Teenage Wasteland
by Jeff Excellence
Summary: In Sinnoh, a young trainer just wants to go on an adventure to meet new Pokémon and take on the gyms, while hopefully staying out of other people's way. It quickly becomes evident that that last part won't happen as he comes to blows with ghosts from his childhood, criminals, the personal issues of others, grandiose conspiracies and the concept of morality. Shonen-inspired. OCs.
1. Welcome to the Machine (1)

**_Author's Notes:_** _Thank you for choosing to read this story._

 _D_ _isclaimer: I don't own_ _Pokémon (of course), nor do I own the song "Baba O'Riley," by the Who, to which this story owes its name. Nor do I own "Welcome to the Machine" by Pink Floyd, to which this arc owes its name._

 _Finally, tremendous thanks go out to user AureliusX-3c33 for beta-reading the story_.

* * *

 ** _07:00 - October 9th, 2007_**

"Good morning, and thank you all for joining us today! This is Jubilife TV News: the news that comes directly to you. I'm your host, Pete Goodman, and if you're watching this, I'm so glad you've tuned in to us today. How are you feeling? Feel free to call in at any time and tell us what's on your mind, and we'll try our hardest to give you a listen! Today's date is October 9th, the time is seven o'clock exactly, and according to our wonderful weather team's ever-reliable Castform Weather Forecast, expect a cloudy day with spots of sunshine throughout. To kickstart the news, then, our top story for today: GERECHT have promised a full investigation of the area surrounding the meteor that landed in the Battle Zone two days ago..."

A new day was dawning in the city of Jubilife. The sun ascended above the cluster of towering buildings, climbing above the thick clouds to peer upon the world below, gazing upon the melodious splendor of the city. A symphony of footsteps, speech and noise echoed throughout the city as people and Pokémon alike went about their days in peace and harmony. As usual, the clowns of the Pokétch company performed their riddles, gifting their wares to starry-eyed young trainers as they prepared to head off on their journeys. Likewise, the Pokémart in town prepared to open its doors for the day, as did the trainer school, each offering their services to the people of the region. The city's TV station began its daily morning broadcasts, telling the people of Sinnoh the news for the day, providing them entertainment. All in all, it was an average day for most of the people of Jubilife City.

Among these people was a young man who was coming to his senses after a night of little sleep.

Groggily opening his eyes to a world of haze and blur, he raised a sore arm from beneath his torso, drawing debris from his eyes as his index finger and thumb rubbed across his dry, heavy eyelids. The skin atop his thumb gave quite an unpleasant sensation as it came over his short thumbnail, aching as it dug into his bitten, worn down nail - he'd made it a point to try and get out of doing that. Slowly rising into a sitting position in his bed, he yawned and looked around. Light was creeping in through his curtains, black and punctuated with Pokéball decals. It peered through, shining onto a navy blue t-shirt and jeans sprawled across the floor. From his bed, he could just about hear the familiar buzz of his parents' television in the next room. Slowly stretching as his mouth went agape to let out another yawn, he stopped midway as his baggy, brown eyes widened. Something dawned on him.

Today was the day. The day he was due to begin his adventure and become an official Pokémon trainer. License, Pokédex, badge case, neat hat, the whole nine yards.

A gasp left his mouth as, in an instant, a wide, open-mouthed beam sprung to each cheek. He practically flung himself out of bed in his haste to get ready for his journey, a bundle of flailing limbs as he leapt across his room. He'd packed last night, but it didn't hurt to be sure everything was there. Back up clothes? Check. Food and water for the next week? Check. Wallet? Check. Sleeping bag? This was going to be a hell of a heavy backpack, but regardless, check. The bracelet? ...Where was the bracelet? Crap. His hand fumbled across the nooks and crannies of his bag. It was a miracle the bag was holding itself together, not tearing at the seams; yet he didn't seem to have the most important thing. That bracelet had been with him since he was a child, and he'd be damned if he wouldn't give it back to its owner, or at least, what it even _was_.

As long as he could find it. His hand grasped around until he made contact with it, as he pulled it out. Yeah, this was it. He double-checked the text on the outside of it. 'Evelyn,' it read, in faded red letters. He couldn't help but wonder who, or what, this Evelyn was. What was it written in, too? It seemed like a pencil crayon or something. Nevertheless, there it was, safe and sound, and he thought he knew where he'd find the original owner. He tucked it into a side compartment, ensuring it wouldn't get lost.

Regardless, though, everything seemed to be in order. He glanced at his clock. Half past nine.

 _Oh, crap, I'm gonna be late!_

Panicking, he flung himself into the bathroom with all the speed and grace of a Deerling on ice.

"Connor…? What are you doing up and about so early? The professor's office doesn't open until ten," came a fatigued, feminine groan from his parents' room as the shower started running.

 _Early?! What're you on about? I have half an hour to shower, dress myself and run to the next town, you mad woman!_ thought Connor to himself, his heart pounding as his mind went into overdrive. His mother was never in bed this late, too - something was definitely up. Had everyone overslept? Impossible. Short of a Hypno somehow breaking into the house, there was no way his mother would be in bed past half eight. Unless she had the day off. No, that wouldn't happen - he cast his mind back to last night when she explicitly stated she wished that this was the case.

Come to think of it, Pete Goodman's news report always began at seven in the morning, without fail. That realization was quickly followed up by another one - he'd forgotten to put batteries in his clock last night. He dropped his shoulders and gave a relieved "phew," mimicking a sweatdrop.

"Connor?" came the voice again.

What was he going to say? That he forgot to put batteries in his clock? Nah, that was why they bought batteries in the first place - what was the point in buying them if they weren't going to be used? Besides, he'd come off as lazy. But what else could he say? His mother was waiting for a response - _think, Connor, think!_

"Heh, well… it never hurts to be ready on time, does it?" he called back, unable to suppress neither an awkward grin and raised an eyebrow from sprouting upon his face, nor the air of uncertainty, of faux-confidence in his voice.

There was a pause, before Connor let out a soft sigh, flaring his nostrils.

 _...Really? What is wrong with you?_

Nevertheless, he stepped into the warm shower. He quite liked showers. The water was relaxing as it went down his back, he was rarely disturbed and it was always a plus, he thought, to have his thoughts to himself. Thoughts about the day ahead, about his Pokémon. About the journey that lay ahead of him. As much fun as it was going to be, there were certain things he was going to miss about being at home - the showers, for one. With all the nights he'd be spending outside, camping and whatnot, he wouldn't be able to have these showers as often. He'd have to rely on hotels for things like this, and even then, there was no telling how often he'd come across them… well, there was, but in Connor's hype for an adventure, he'd forgotten to check. Typical, he thought, but not the end of the world. He'd relegated himself to crossing that bridge when he got there.

Besides, showers were not at all why he'd chosen to head out on this adventure. Far from it. No, it was the freedom to leave home, to see the world, to meet new Pokémon and become closer to his own, become stronger as a trainer, as a person. As for making new friends, well… he always had his Pokémon. He wasn't really too keen on other people, truth be told. Never really got around to making friends when he was younger. Usually stayed indoors. There was that _one_ asshole who just wouldn't leave him alone, always ripped into him when he had the chance. What was his problem? Still, it'd been a while since they'd last met. With any luck, they wouldn't meet again.

He poured out some shampoo and prepared to wash his messy, dark brown hair as it fell over his eyes like limp noodles.

Even if they did meet, though, he finally had a Pokémon to protect himself. His first Pokémon. Finally, he was going to have someone he could speak to in the knowledge they would listen, someone he could travel with and grow alongside, a friend he knew wouldn't judge him. So what if it was something like a Kricketot or a Starly? That was of no concern to him. No Pokémon was perfect, after all; everyone had their own strengths and weaknesses. Connor's first priority was ensuring he had a friend that could fight for him, and he'd always believed in one thing: true strength was having a cause to fight for. Only after that did the ability to win and lose come into it.

But Connor wasn't strong, and he knew it. As far as causes went, "wanting to be stronger" was hardly anything special. Millions of people had set off on journeys for that same reason, to varying degrees of success. What did he have that they didn't? Was he just destined for mediocrity, or worse, _failure?_ Connor looked down, downcast, his wet hair flopping over his head. In the grand scheme of things, he was nothing; to the rest of humanity, he was nothing but a scared teenager who liked Pokémon. What could he possibly do to change that, if he couldn't even bother to get used to other people? This whole adventure was doomed from the start, and nothing he could do would ever change the fact he was merely… mediocre. Then there was the matter of the bracelet, too. What if he couldn't give it back to its owner? What if he lost it on the way? What if they'd completely forgotten about it, anyway, and keeping hold of it for so long was completely futile? Honestly, outside of sentimentality, he couldn't think of any purpose it could serve. Maybe it wasn't worth finding the owner; a long, menial venture into mediocrity and uselessness.

No. That wasn't going to happen, thought Connor, defiantly tucking the hair over his eyes back. It wasn't going to be an easy journey, that was for sure, but he sure as hell wasn't going to let himself fail. So what if he wasn't a people person? The sole measurement of how good a trainer was was his skill with Pokémon, and he didn't spend all that time as a child locked in his bedroom reading about Pokémon for nothing. Just as long as he could build a bond with his Pokémon, win some battles, that was all that mattered. That was all he had to do. That, and give the bracelet back. How hard could it be?

It was the least he could do. After all, if his hunch was correct, they saved his life, all those years ago.

With a defiant smile, he shut off the shower, threw his clothes on, and marched downstairs to get himself some breakfast.

"So, yer finally becoming a trainer, eh, son?"

The voice greeting him was his dad's. It was gruff, yet warm, with a hint of concern. A hint of concern that seemed to fly completely over Connor's head, as he merely nodded with a smile.

His father looked straight down at him with contemplative green eyes, before sighing. Connor knew what was coming next, and couldn't help but roll his eyes in anticipation.

"Are ye sure yer ready? Look, I get that you really like Pokémon and all, but, if I'm bein' honest, I don't really know if yer ready just yet. The real world can be a tough place and all, and I get that yer growing up and all that, but… ye do know that ye _are_ gonna have to swallow yer pride and meet new people, right? 'Sides, Pokémon are way different to look after than ye think. Some of 'em are more powerful than ye could ever believe, and ye might end up gettin' yerself hurt badly… or worse. Battles are hard work, too, Connor, and we don't want ye injurin' yersel-"

Connor's look gradually became more withering as his father's lecture went on. This certainly wasn't the first time he'd heard this whole spiel, and, truth be told, he really wished his parents would just stop worrying. His father was not oblivious to these hints, and stopped in his tracks, moving to put a hand on his son's shoulder. Connor recoiled back in response, shooting his father a glare. His dad considered this, giving him a concerned look and a firm half-smile as he retracted his hand.

"...Son, if yer absolutely set on it, then, then I mean who am I stop ya, heh heh... but… but I really do think ye should reconsider."

Connor glanced away as he went a soft shade of red. "I mean… I appreciate the concern and all, but, uhm…" he began in a murmur, before sighing and taking a deep breath as he looked his dad in the eyes, a determined flicker in them. "I'm sixteen, Pops; I promise you, I can handle it. Really. What's the worst that's going to happen? I might get a few bruises here and there, but, y'know, that's just part of the experience. Besides, I've been avoiding other people for as long as I can remember. It won't be _that_ hard to keep it up out there."

"Mhm. So ye've no problem with fighting others? For yer gym badges, and whatnot," replied his father, monotonously.

This had been a concern of Connor's. In all honesty, gym battles were not an aspect of the trainer experience he was looking forward to. The mental aspect of it all seemed quite… troubling; after all, he was never good at sussing people out, nor was he any use at mind games. But it could grow on him over time, he thought with a hint of optimism; perhaps it was something he'd get used to? Hopefully, it was something he'd get used to. Reflecting upon this, he felt a nervous chuckle bubble within him, about to escape his lips. But he couldn't let himself show this. No, as he prepared his response, he knew his father had to be convinced he was confident.

"Well, we'll just have to cross that bridge when we get there, won't we?" Connor chuckled, nervously.

 _Why are you the way that you are?_ thought the trainer.

"...Right, right. If y'insist, son," replied his dad, quite apprehensively, before being met with a third, feminine voice heading down the stairs.

"Good _lord,_ Michael, I ever tell ya that you worry too much? He'll be fine, relax," replied the voice incredulously. It was Connor's mother, looking at her husband with a raised eyebrow and light-hearted grin. "Now, go and get the thing from the kitchen."

The thing? Connor tilted his head, giving his mother a questioning response. Nevertheless, his father sighed and stepped back, his hands raised. "Sorry, dearie. I'll go fetch it fer 'im now. Just... Connor, be safe out there, please. Mmkay?" he sighed before heading into the kitchen, as his wife began to speak to their son, smile still intact.

"So, Connor, since you're becoming a trainer and setting off on your own today, your father and I decided that it would be appropriate for us to give you a little gift before you head off. But, just to be sure, you _will_ be sure to call us and let us know how you're doing, will you? I don't want to-"

"Mom," groaned Connor, rolling his eyes as a small, embarrassed grin escaped his lips.

"...Right, right, you're not a child anymore, sorry. I just don't want to have to put up with your big lug of a father's worrying all the time. Anyway, you know how when you were little, you used to head into the mines all the time with him to look at all the Pokémon there? You always used to say your favorites were Steel-types, because of how strong they were, and how you could use them to defend just about anything, or something like that, didn't you?"

"...Yeah," he replied, intrigued.

"Well, your father found something you might like down there a couple of days ago, and we thought it would make a good first Pokémon. You're familiar with the Pokémon Aron, aren't you?" continued his mother, smiling throughout.

"Aye," nodded Connor, still intrigued. There was a pause in the air for a brief few seconds as Connor attempted to figure out what his mother was hinting at before he finally realized where she was going with this. He gasped as his eyes widened, flickering with delight. The cogs of his mind whirred as he jogged his memory.

Aron, a Steel- and Rock-type Pokémon. Small. Heavy. Very physical-based; very decent defensively. He recalled they ate a lot of metal? But what _type_ of metal was alright? Iron was probably a safe bet. Aluminium too, maybe. Either way, Pokémarts stocked aluminium foil all the time, and he could _definitely_ find iron in pretty much any store. Evolved into Lairon and Aggron. Both specialised defensively. How were they behaviour-wise, though? His brain was being thoroughly wracked as he continued to jog his memory. Aron was pretty docile. Good for children. Have to make sure they have a constant food supply, though. Can be ravenous when hungry. Lairon, fairly headstrong and rushes into things a lot, but still a great companion. Some aggression issues, though - no worry. As long as he had a good bond with it as an Aron, it should have been fine. Aggron was a daunting prospect - no, that wasn't the right sort of mindset, thought Connor. Quite an aggressive and territorial Pokémon; maybe not going to be very social, try to keep it out of the path of other people, it might view them as a threat. Reminded him of someone, he chuckled. But he had a lot of time to prepare for that. He'd have to have a lot of battles, patience and training before he'd have an Aggron on his hands. Battles. Type effectiveness. Steel/Rock. Keep out of the way of Fighting-types. Great counter to Flying-types, normal-types; good for Starly-

"...and if you can't call us, then at least try to write - ...Connor? Are you listening to me?" enquired his mother, pointedly.

"Hm? Oh, sure," answered Connor as he turned his focus back to the conversation at hand, nodding quickly. His mother's look wilted into one of doubt, a peer of suspicion, as a silence festered between the two. Connor couldn't help but feel a sense of unease, as the air of awkwardness grew between the two. _That was a terrible lie, Connor, and you know it - and she knows it! What if she goes through the whole lecture again… wait, Connor, can you even_ ** _hear_** _yourself?! She's your mother! It's not as if she's gonna kill you - by Arceus, why are you like this? This sort of thing won't fly in the real world, Connor; you've got to stop doing this..._

"Uh huh," replied his mother, pausing for a second to choose her next words before exhaling. "Connor, I get you're sick to death of hearing this, but please: just look after yourself, alright?"

"For the hundredth time, Mom, I'll be fine. Please, just trust me," offered Connor flatly.

At that moment, his father re-entered the room, a Pokéball in hand. "Awright, son, here ye go," he replied, handing it to him. "I'm assumin' yer mother's told ye what's it is?"

"Yup," answered Connor, excitedly placing it on a holder at the center of his belt.

"And ye promise ye know what-"

"Yes."

"Right, right. In any case… I guess the only thing for us to say is stay safe and have fun out there, son. Don't forget yer folks at home when yer up there, competing in the Pokémon League, awright? We love ye," boomed his father, an encouraging beam spreading from cheek to cheek.

"Love you too, Mom, Pops," chimed Connor as he strolled out the door, turning to face and wave at his parents one last time before he ventured on out into the outside world, away from home, on his own. His parents waved back in response, beaming as if to encourage him, tell him that they believed in him. After a couple of seconds, he turned back around and shut the door, walking away from his childhood home. He was finally free. An adventurer, soon to be an official trainer, with a Pokémon to his name. It was time for him to spread his wings and make a name for himself. His first destination? To Sandgem Town and the Professor's lab, right away!

"I give it a week before he comes back."

"Probably. Wouldn't hurt to 'ave some faith in the boy, though."

* * *

As it turned eight o'clock, Connor was marching down Route 202, a large nugget of iron from a Pokémon Center in one of his pockets. The fires of euphoria still burning bright within him. It had become apparent that both of the jackets he'd chosen to head out with were too big for him. It was baggy and flowing down his back, red and white on each side of a large Pokéball. Too short to be considered a long coat, but too large to be considered his size. For now, though, it would do. As long as it did a good job of keeping him warm in winter - besides, if it was ruined, he always had a spare in his backpack. It would also make a nice blanket for Aron to keep warm in, sleep in if, for some reason, he couldn't go into his Pokéball.

 _Speaking of which, I should probably introduce myself to the little dude, make sure he's doing alright and all. I wonder if it is a he, actually? I'll check if they've been fed, too; it wouldn't hurt to leave a good first impression on 'em. What're they like, too? Should be fairly docile, but if not, that's fine, too - just means a little extra hard work and they'll fight a lot harder, is all._

The pulse of his heart crept faster and faster, as Connor took a deep breath in and out. Clenching his teeth in a determined grin, there was something of a fire in his eyes as he grabbed a hold of the Pokéball. "Alright, bud," he began, aiming the ball at the ground as his thumb hovered over the button. "Let's see what you're all about, eh?"

With a click, the button opened, and a light blue light streamed out onto the floor, sparkling as it materialized. Connor's determined grin melted into a warm, welcoming smile as he knelt upon one knee, looking closer at the Steel-type. The Pokémon before him was a tiny thing, not even reaching Connor's knees as it gazed back at him with large, pale blue eyes. Its small, grey stubs slowly trudged towards its new trainer, letting out a high-pitched grunt as it looked back at him, pupils dilating.

 _He's male, and he's hungry. Right,_ noted Connor, reaching into his pocket and leaving the newly-purchased metal a couple of inches in front of the guy - at this stage, trying to get him to eat from his hand was not the best idea, not until he had a better idea what this particular Pokémon was actually like.. "There you are, little guy," he muttered softly, taking a step back and observing. Apprehensively, the Aron stumbled forward - _alright, quite shy._ He glanced at Connor. Slowly, he took a bite of the iron, keeping his eyes on Connor throughout. Connor deduced sudden movements would not be a good idea. He waited until the Pokémon finished taking a bite, and took another bite, eventually devouring the whole thing, giving Connor time to analyze and consider his next move.

As he finished the meal, the Aron's gaze softened up, growing less suspicious and more friendly. All positive signs so far. Good. Slowly, he offered an outstretched palm to the Pokémon, gesturing for him to take a step nearer. The Pokémon paused for a moment, as Connor watched. He offered the same warm grin throughout, making sure not to bare teeth - he wouldn't want the Pokémon to think he was a predator, after all. Carefully, Aron trundled forward. Carefully, Connor reached to stroke the Pokémon's head with the back of his hand. Aron didn't recoil. Cool. Good first impression so far. He rubbed the back of his fingers on the Pokémon's face softly - it felt cold, almost robotic. As was to be expected for a steel-type. Aron let out a contented squeal in response, nuzzling Connor's hand. Connor's grin grew across his face, as he let out an overjoyed chuckle.

All was good so far. It seemed to Connor as if they'd be the best of friends in no time, and with a bit of training, they'd be blazing through gyms in no time. Indeed, in that moment, it felt as if that nothing would be able to stop the two - nothing whatsoever!

"Hah! I see you've gotten yourself a Pokémon now, have you, dickweed?"

Except that.

Connor froze, half in horror, half in anger. His smile evaporated in the blink of an eye. That voice… it was familiar. Too familiar. He'd recognize that sneer, that sense of superiority, anywhere; even now, without even looking, he could just sense that crap-eating grin.

 _Oh, Arceus, no. Not him. You couldn't be content with letting him terrorize just my childhood, could you? Please, don't let him become a regular part of this adventure. Any other human on the planet, and I'd just about be willing to accept it… anyone but him._

 _Anyone but Hawley._

* * *

 **Pokémon Stats - Aron**

 **\- Trainer: Connor Murdoch**

 **\- Male**

 **\- Type: Steel/Rock**

 **\- Ability: Rock Head**

 **\- Level: 10**

 **HP: D (50)**

 **Attack: C (70)**

 **Defence: B (100)**

 **Special Attack: E (40)**

 **Special Defence: E (40)**

 **Speed: E (30)**

 ** _"Aron is a Pokémon that tends to live deep within caves and mountains, regularly feeding on metals such as iron. They occasionally feast upon railroad tracks if particularly hungry. They are renowned as docile creatures and make very good beginner Pokémon, having very good physical stats for first-stage Pokémon; however, any trainer interested in owning an Aron must be aware of their ravenous appetites."_**


	2. Welcome to the Machine (2)

**_08:00 - October 9th, 2007_**

Hawley stood over Connor, his spiked crimson hair casting a shadow over his eyes, solid amber in hue as they looked daggers at the trainer on the ground before him. His mouth formed a self-assured smirk, the right side of his mouth arched up. His skin was clear, unstained by stress or hardship, his eyebrows neatly trimmed. His teeth were flawlessly white as they peered through his soft, unchapped lips. His arms were carelessly crossed and his shoulders were relaxed as he stood tall and straight, his lean frame casting a long shadow in the rising autumn sunlight. A shadow that surrounded Connor, suffocating him in its authority and sheer commanding presence.

More than a little unnerved, he slowly came to his feet, repositioning himself to cover Aron as he stood to look up at Hawley in the face. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't help but feel deterred by the stare Hawley was giving him. The height difference between the two was only four inches, but even in the out and open, the new trainer felt as if he were only two feet tall, gazing up at a world-eating monster before him as its glimmering jewels for eyes stared back. His mere presence was enough to send shivers running down Connor's body, the hairs on his body standing on end.

"H-Hawley," greeted Connor, gulping as he forlornly gazed at the floor, backing away from the pair's game of ocular chicken. The tension in the air grew thick, smothering him as a brief silence ensued.

"Hawley _what?_ Answer my question, ingrate!" demanded his rival in explosive response, his arms crossed, his voice unwavering as his grin shifted into an enraged frown.

"R-right, right, Pokémon, yeah… yeah, that's Aron. Just got him today," replied Connor quietly, squirming to avoid his rival's leer. He cast his mind back to his childhood, back when he was eight or nine, when he used to hang out near Lake Verity. All he wanted was to see the Pokémon out in the wild, get a view of nature, have a place to relax. But not if Hawley and his friends had anything to say about it. They'd berate him, terrorize him with Pokémon, call him names, push him in the water when he was caught unaware. He recalled why they stopped, of course - that mystery Pokémon attacked them. Knocked them right out without ever revealing itself. The Pokémon he'd been dying to find out about, striving for years to meet; perhaps one day, if he was lucky, he'd even become its trainer. But that was beside the point - more importantly, Hawley definitely hadn't forgotten that, either. He'd gone out of his way whenever he had the chance to make Connor's life a living hell, it seemed, and it looked as if today was no different.

Connor felt a coldness on the back of his leg, and turned around, looking down to see Aron hiding in his shadow, avoiding the opposing trainer. The Steel-type's soft blue eyes gazed back up at his trainer, and as their gazes met, Connor felt two things. One was a warmth, a certain fondness in the Pokémon's eyes as he regarded his trainer. The other was something of a plea - he noticed his Pokémon's pupils contract, stubby legs quivering. Aron was scared. Scared of the intruder of this peace standing before him. He didn't want to face him - and, truthfully, neither did Connor. As far back as he could remember, Hawley had always been the bane of Connor's existence. At every opportunity, he'd treated him like dirt, crushed his spirit for no discernible reason, stomped on him and kicked him when he was down. Anything Connor could do, Hawley could do ten times better - they both knew it, and his adversary wasn't afraid to let him know this.

"Hmph." Hawley peered around Connor's leg to get a look at his opponent's Pokémon, scrutinizing Aron with an unimpressed frown on his face. The Pokémon met his gaze and quickly backed down, retreating back into the shadow of his trainer, much to Hawley's amusement as he looked back at Connor with a smirk. "You're calling that a Pokémon? I'm not sure whether I should laugh or cry, to be perfectly honest with you. But of course, why _do_ I - why _should_ I - expect any better from trash like you?"

Connor gritted his teeth and began to fidget with his fingers, clenching his right hand into a fist as his Pokémon glanced back up at him, beginning to tremble all over now. "Well, m-maybe he's not the strongest right now, b-but-"

"Buh, buh, b-but w-what, d-dickweed? By Arceus, you'd think you had a _stutter!"_ called out his rival in mocking response, the sound of harsh, cackling laughter poorly masked in the second half of the sentence.

Connor's fist clenched tighter, knuckles beginning to whiten as he took a deep breath in, pausing to consider his words before he spoke, standing up straighter and looking up at Hawley, staring him in the eyes. "But a Pokémon's fighting ability isn't everything, y'know. Me and Aron, we'll get stronger, trainer and Pokémon alike; and maybe I'll catch some other Pokémon on the way, too! Whatever happens, mark my words - I _will_ become stronger than you! Just you wait until I kick your ass someday - and _then_ we'll see who's smiling."

Hawley listened attentively to this, giving a flat and unimpressed look as Connor went along, without breaking his stare. Except for that last part. The ridiculousness of what he was hearing was too much to not react to, as he recoiled in shock, blinking in sheer disbelief. Connor, defeating him? _Connor?_ Defeating _him?_ It was an insult, a slight on his honor, that such an outlandish thought had even crossed his rival's mind. Quite frankly, such insolence could not go unpunished - it would seem, Hawley realized as a smirk began to blossom, that this worthless pile of human refuse needed to be cut down a level or two. Indeed, Connor's balloon of new-found confidence quickly deflated as Hawley approached him. Like a popped balloon, he stood down, sweat beginning to run across his head as his rival, a wry grin on his face, stepped towards him, before beginning with a chuckle.

"Oh, _you'll_ kick _my_ ass, will you? Hah! At least you seem to have grown a pair of balls, I'll commend you for that. Yet I don't think I've heard anything so… so naive, so moronic, so _stupid_ in my life. Do you _want_ a repeat of the lake incidents? Do you need me to beat you again? When will you get it through your thick skull that you are _nothing_ to me? Wh- what has it been, now; eight years, and you still haven't realized that you are completely and _utterly_ beneath me. How can I put this in Pokémon terms, so that maybe for once you'll understand - people like you are like a... like a Magikarp, helplessly struggling along the waters of life, swimming along and going on with your pathetic excuse of a life with no means for growth. You are, and forever will be, trapped in permanent stagnation, doomed to nothing more than painful mediocrity. _I_ , on the other hand, am a glorious Pidgeot, gliding along in the skies of glory and ascending to heights you could not even comprehend if you tried - and I've yet to even _begin_ to peak. Naturally, like a predator and his prey, it would seem the two of us are bound to meet, and naturally, I outperform you in _every_ way you can imagine, and I always will. You're destined to be beneath me forever, and nothing you can ever do will ever change that. So when I tell you to grovel at my feet, it would be _much easier_ for you to stop splashing at my feet, and it saves me the effort of beating you dead, and _therefore_ , when I _tell_ you to grovel, you will fucking _grovel!_ Am I perfectly clear?!"

Connor was silent in response to this relentless tirade, finding himself leaning back, struggling to avoid falling over his diminutive companion as he began to wave his arms about to remain sturdy. With one eye, he glanced back down at the Pokémon. Despite the clear threat imposed by Hawley, Aron was standing tall. He was no longer quivering. He seemed ready to battle. It had seemed that he'd been roused by Connor's speech about growing stronger together and his seeming defiance to bow down to him. Truth be told, he was caught off-guard by his newfound ability to go against Hawley, to defy him and to not feel threatened by his constant rants. Could it be, he thought, that he was more confident because he knew he had a Pokémon on his side? But that was unreasonable - it had only been an hour since they'd first met… yet, try as he might, he couldn't think of anything else it could have been. As cliché as it sounded, Connor reckoned that it was having someone who relied on him, a newly-met friend, that was giving him this sense of confidence. No matter how hard he was made to squirm, no matter how much Hawley loomed over him, he wouldn't back down. After all, he seriously doubted his rival could say the same about having someone to care about, that self-centered asshole?

"Alright. If you're not going to show _me_ any respect, then I suppose I'll have to kick you and your pile of rocks' asses," Hawley declared, no remorse in his voice as he fumbled in his pocket, grabbing a Pokéball of his own as he turned and took a few paces back. He swiveled around on one leg before standing tall, legs wide and shoulders relaxed, staring him in the eyes. Authority emanated from him, the brutality and swagger in his body language giving the impression of complete and impenetrable superiority over his foe.

"Wh- wait, no-"

"Oh, it's too late to back down now, you worthless sack of shit. Croagunk, go!"

Putting an arm out as he hurled the ball overarm, Hawley sent out his first Pokémon. The Pokéball hit the ground with a soft thud, bouncing once before opening to release a flow of brilliant blue light. The light materialized into a frog-like Pokémon, standing about a foot taller than Aron and staring down at him, passive and unaffected. Its red sacs were like bubbles of gum as they inflated and deflated, its mouth an indifferent smile as it prepared to attack.

This was bad. This was very bad. Panic began to set in, slowly eroding Connor's spirit, as he took a step back, sending Aron forth. _Alright, Connor, focus - Croagunk. Bands high up - female; quieter than males - perhaps less aggressive? Poison-type, fighting-type - Aron resists poison-type moves completely, but fighting-type? Entirely different story. Equally proficient in physical and special attacks. Mostly only naturally learns physical moves at the early stages of life, but… but… dammit! Think! Was there a-_

"Mud-Slap!" called out Hawley, a brutal enthusiasm accompanying his voice. With a nod and a guttural croak, Croagunk took a couple of lumbering steps towards Aron before effortlessly shooting her hands into the Earth with deceptive speed.

"Gah- uh, counter that with a Headbutt, Aron!" blurted out Connor, uncertainty in his voice as he hoped Aron knew what Headbutt was.

Indeed, Connor's hunch proved correct; the Pokémon let out a quiet yet determined 'ar!' as he charged at Croagunk, eyelids narrowed, pupils determined, legs carrying him forward with all the speed and urgency they could handle. Croagunk didn't seem fazed by this in the slightest. But this didn't deter him. Hawley had threatened him, threatened his trainer, the human who seemed determined to protect him. So what if they'd only met a very short time ago? He could tell that his goals were noble, that he had his best interests at heart, that he was going to protect him and look after him - and besides, with the speed at which he ordered that attack, he clearly had everything planned out. Now less than a foot away from the Croagunk, Aron reared his head back and leaped at the Poison-type before him.

Before he had the chance to made contact, his opponent swiftly removed her hands from the ground, scooping up an armful of debris and hurling it at Aron. A wave of mud and earth smashed into his head and body, as he let out a pained screech, scoops of dirt getting into his eyes. The attack threw him off balance and sent him hurtling backward in the air. It was only mud, and yet it felt like something was prying Aron apart as large particles of dirt got in between the steel and rock of his torso.

"And beat it whilst it's down! Wake-Up Slap!" he continued in a triumphant roar, with more than a hint of ruthlessness and harshness present in his voice.

"SKREEEE!" called out Croagunk as she surged forward, hurling her left arm back as she lunged towards the airborne Steel-type. With the speed of a bullet, she brought that arm forward, the backside of her left hand smashing into Aron's torso and sending him flying further backward, utterly helpless and unable to harden himself in time for the attack. The poor thing was barely able to move after it slammed into the ground with a heavy crash, heaving to flip itself over and hide his badly bruised torso, purple from the Croagunk's attacks.

 _No, no, no! Of course Croagunk learns how to use Mud-Slap when young! Dammit, I should know this! Wake-Up Slap, too - inherited moves! Dammit! There's no way you'll be able to keep up with him if I keep making these brain-dead mistakes - it's taken him two attacks, and Aron's already on the verge of passing out! You utter moron! You absolute cretin! You're a poor excuse for a trainer!_

"What was that about kicking my ass earlier, eh?" called out Hawley, smugness oozing from every pore as he gazed menacingly at his adversary, his Croagunk slowly marching towards her wounded enemy, an air of calmness surrounding her as she prepared to finish him off.

Connor wasn't willing to give up, though. He was still willing to fight, and it seemed as though the same was true for his partner. A rebellious smile lit up his face for a split second as he had a thought - Aron, too, was capable of Mud-Slap in the early stages of his life - and whilst it was super-effective on Steel-types and Rock-types, it was _also_ super-effective on Poison-types, too. His eyes shot to Aron, fixing on his Pokémon. "Aron, we can still win this! Mud-Slap, as fast as you can!"

A pained, less enthusiastic nod was Aron's reply as he grunted under his breath, urgently digging his legs into the ground as he launched uprooted soil and dirt at Croagunk's skin, burning like acid as it sunk into her poisonous sacs. This caused her to writhe in pain, clutching at her face and letting out an audible screech of discomfort. Her relaxed look at the Aron turned into one of fury, as her brow furrowed and her expression became a vengeful squint. Hawley became visibly annoyed as a result of this attack, his voice going hoarse with rage as he ordered his next attack.

"How _dare_ you even _think_ that such worthless scum as yourself can even try and defeat my beautiful Pokémon?! Croagunk, show them what we do to garbage like your opponent!"

Roaring with anger, Croagunk took a moment to compose herself as she launched from one leg at Aron, flattening her hands and crossing her arms whilst she propelled through the air. With the fury of a storm, she chopped at Aron, her hands hitting like bricks on her foe's head. The force of the impact was enough to annihilate Aron's defenses, crashing against the steel of his head. The impact was enough to shatter a massive amount of capillaries, and in an instant, it felt as if a hammer was pounding against both his torso and his head, agony pulsating around his entire body, much to Connor's visible shock and despair.

"Hah! Beat _me?!_ You couldn't even beat a drum, you worthless piece of trash! What makes trash like you think you could possibly stand up to someone as powerful as me? The weak must fear the strong, Connor, my boy! That's just the way the world works!"

Connor shot his head down to the ground, shame and disgust enveloping him. With a defeated sigh, he picked up his Pokéball and clicked the button on it. There was no use in persisting - it was clear Hawley would crush him if he tried to fight back, and there was no knowing what he'd do to Aron. He couldn't let his Pokémon get hurt badly so early in his journey - what sort of trainer would gamble their Pokémon's well-being for the chance to settle an old rivalry? The guilt of letting Aron down, the weight of defeat pulled him down like chains on the ground, but for now, he just had to swallow his dignity and take this loss. "Aron… return. We'll work on it, partner."

The heavily bruised Pokémon was enveloped in light as he returned to the safety of his ball, Connor tucking it away from the world and into his pocket as Hawley let out a dry chuckle, doing the same with his Pokémon. "Excellent work, Croagunk," he muttered, not taking his eyes off his defeated foe, as the ball opened, the Poison-type returning to it. "That'll show 'em who's boss."

With both Pokémon off the field, he marched towards Connor, sharply grabbing at his collar with both hands and lifting him up despite his sharp recoil. The air was ripped from his lungs as he was dragged up to face his aggressor at eye level, not daring to fight back as he felt the sanctity of his soul penetrated by that horrible glare of dominance, those pupils dilated like a frenzied shark, and that self-assured smirk. "So, am I clear _now?_ "

"Grk- y, yes," choked Connor, an air of complete desolation falling over him.

"Yes _what?_ " replied Hawley, stern and unblinking, his tone harsh like that of a drill sergeant's.

"Y-yes, Hawley."

" _Will_ you try and beat me? _Will_ you try and kick my ass?"

"No, Hawley."

"And propose you were _that_ much of a damned idiot to do so - would you succeed?"

"...No, Hawley."

With that, he practically flung his opponent back onto the ground, leaving him in a pile of crumpled limbs and broken dreams on the soiled grass below as he marched off.

"Good. Now, stay out of my way, trash. Know your place in future," he called back, running his hair back with his hands as he began to whistle a venomous tune.

* * *

About an hour had passed, and yet the self-loathing persisted.

Connor's triumphant, proud stride towards Sandgem had quickly shifted into a defeated, slow trudge; the adventure he had set out to enjoy had turned into a shameful chore, the feeling of defeat weighing a tonne as his feet shuffled down Route 202. Of course, he couldn't throw his toys in the pram and give up after two hours of being a trainer - even by his standards, that was beyond laughable. It was what Hawley would want, too; any failure of his would please that cocky asswipe. As much as it sucked, Connor knew he had to - as his father would say - "build a bridge and get over it." But that didn't make it suck any less. If anything, the comfort of knowing he had a way out would have been a mood lightener in this situation. At least that way, Aron wouldn't have a trainer who let it get hurt badly in some ill-fated attempt to settle a score, a trainer that was so utterly hopeless when it came to people, a trainer who even thought about giving up after losing one battle.

But Connor wasn't about to surrender just yet. No, he'd prove his parents wrong, prove Hawley wrong, prove the world wrong, and he'd be the trainer he dreamt he could be, the one Aron deserved. So what if that asshole was a trainer too? With enough hard work, determination, and practice, any obstacle could be overcome - sure, that was easier said than done, but nothing was impossible.

He knew that these were empty platitudes, of course, but right now, they were all he had. All he could do now was lift himself up, move on and keep repeating them in the outlandish hope that perhaps one day, they were more than just words.

As he trundled along his path, riddled with far too much guilt to check on Aron, he was focused on clenching his teeth; his breathing was deep, each breath in slow and each breath out heavy. Anything to help cope with this awful feeling, so long as it wasn't crying. Tears were a sign of weakness, and whatever he did, no matter how hard things got, crying was absolutely not an option. What would Hawley do if he saw his sixteen-year-old rival blubbering like a baby? He had to suck it up and keep going.

 _Move on, Connor. Just move on._

He continued to trudge along down the road, despondent as he trudged over a ledge as he continued in much the same line of thought. As he approached Sandgem, he decided it would be more appropriate to head to the Pokémon Center first - after all, he had to be sure Aron was alright. What was more, it gave him a chance to smooth things over with his Pokémon before he headed out to the professor's lab, in case the battle against Croagunk had left a bad taste in the poor guy's mouth; to add to both of those, what sort of impression would it make on the professor if he turned up with a badly bruised Pokémon asking for a certificate? These thoughts still whirred through his mind, wracking his brain as his shoes made their first steps onto the grass of the seaside town.

The freshness of the beach air, whilst coming from a route over, did a pretty good job of lifting the crestfallen trainer's spirits. Whilst there was, admittedly, sparse amounts of sand for the self-proclaimed "Town of Sand," the scenery was still rather quaint; the air complimented this perfectly, clearing his mind as he took a few deep breaths in and out. It felt as though the great burden weighing him down had gone. Of course, it would have been irresponsible to take in the sights for too long - where was the sense in this lingering around when Aron was in the state that he was? No, the Pokémon Center had to come first, followed by a trip to the Professor's lab, then he could relax. A sense of solemn duty overwhelmed him as he marched towards the Center, his hand firmly on his Pokéball as the door whirred open.

"Hi, welcome to the Sandgem Pokémon Center!" chimed the nurse as this young man approached her, beaming widely and raising a waving hand. "How may we help you today, young man?"

 _What if she sees the state he's in and refuses me service? What if she thinks I beat him? I can't disprove her - and what if she refuses me service because I don't have a license? What if she confiscates him? This is bad - but I can't run out now! What if she thinks I'm some sort of terrorist?! Oh, you've REALLY gotten yourself into a sticky situation now!_

He tried desperately to mask the dread he was feeling, a lump in his throat growing as the nurse loomed over him from the other end of the room.

 _Agh! Snap out of it, Connor, you're overthinking this! All I have to do is take a deep breath, compose yourself, calmly let her know that my Pokémon_ _needs healing, go get your license, come back and I'll be alright._

With that, a fake smile spread across his face. Maybe, just maybe, that'd do it?

"Um… young man, are you alright?" enquired the deeply concerned nurse, getting a closer look at Connor as he shuffled closer. "You're sweating. Is there something I can help you with?"

 _Why._

His mind went into a frenzy and it showed, much to the increasing disquiet of the worried nurse. Silence as Connor approached the nurse's desk, and silence when he stopped moving, turning towards the nurse. It was as if the word "panic" was etched on his face as he strained to think of a way to phrase his problem, failing with each attempt. The nurse could only tilt her head, struggling to guess what was wrong, as silence still saturated the air.

"Are you a new trainer?" finally asked the nurse, warmly smiling at him in an attempt to get to the bottom of the problem.

"Oh, uh, yeah, I am," stuttered Connor in reply. "How- how could you tell?"

A kind chuckle. "We get them all the time, often just after they face their first loss. They usually come in with expressions just like that, but I've got to admit, you might just be the most nervous one I've ever seen. Please don't fret so much, though. I'll do everything I can to help you. Would you mind telling me your problem, then?"

"I… I got my Aron hurt, because there was this one trainer, who I've known since I was a kid - right - and he made me fight him, because I think he hates me, and I didn't want to, but I did, and he had a Croagunk, and, uh, it got really mad that I-"

"Slow down. Take a deep breath," reassured the nurse, gesturing for him to stop. "You got your Aron hurt because someone made you fight him?"

Connor nodded.

"And you couldn't say no?"

"I guess not? He probably would've killed me if I tried, knowing him, I suppose. I didn't trust him to not attack me with his Pokémon, b-but… I shouldn't have brought mine into it," he said, with a little more confidence than before.

"I see. What's your name, young man?"

 _Not good! What if she thinks you're lying? What if she thinks you hurt Aron?!_

As she waited for a response, the nurse's eyes widened and she awkwardly spurted something out. "Oh - don't worry, I'm not going to get you in trouble or anything! I'm asking so I know who to call when I'm done healing your Pokémon, that's all."

"Oh, haha... uh, my name's Connor, ma'am," he sheepishly laughed.

"Okay, Connor, could you please pass me your Pokéball so I can heal Aron?"

"Huh? Oh, of course, yeah."

Connor, having had a hand on the ball the whole time, still somehow fumbled the ball as he pulled it out from his belt in one swift movement. It slipped from a sweaty palm and over the nurse's desk, much to his horror. "Oh, nurse, I'm sor-"

"Don't worry about it, honestly!" chuckled the nurse. "Your Pokémon is still in the ball. Now, would you mind waiting in the Center whilst we heal your Aron? It should only take a couple of minutes - after all, I doubt a first battle can do _that_ much damage to a Pokémon, so I wouldn't worry too much."

He nodded, giving a thumbs up as he retreated to a seat, spending the next several minutes contemplating the journey that lay ahead of him. It had dawned on him that having roughly the same social skills as a chair was far from the best of plans. Perhaps working on that was a bigger priority than training he first thought. Sure, sticking to what he was good at wasn't a bad idea, either (although using the word "good" to describe his skills was probably a stretch considering the beatdown he had just received), but something had to give - if the first hours of his adventure had been anything to go by, meeting other people was an inevitability, and an inevitability he feared more than most Pokémon. _I mean, being afraid of a Pokémon Center nurse? Come on, Connor! You had no problems getting friendly with a creature made of steel and rock that can eat through steel - what gives?!_

It only took ten minutes for the waiting to finish, but it felt like much longer before the nurse called out to Connor, gesturing him over to the desk.

"So, uh… is he okay?" asked Connor, his voice flavored with concern. "I really had no idea he'd get hurt so bad, and I know I'm repeating myself, bu-"

"Oh, relax, relax, he's fine. Out of curiosity, though… how long was that battle you had with that other trainer and their Croagunk?" inquired the nurse as she handed the Pokéball back. Her lack of a smile worried Connor.

"They landed three attacks before I called Aron back. Why? What happened? He _is_ alright, isn't he?" he responded, starting to panic.

"I have to say, that's quite a lot of damage for three turns. And you recalled Aron before the fight could go on, did you?"

"I did - look, please just-"

"It's a good thing that you did, then, otherwise your little buddy might've been out of commission for a while. But please, stop fretting, he's absolutely fine! How long have you been traveling with Aron, Connor?"

"About two hours, but the fight happened in the first hour."

"Wait, really? That's… that's genuinely impressive that you already feel so strongly about your Pokémon, then," chirped the nurse, warmly smiling. "I'm also warranting a guess that the Croagunk and its trainer had significantly more than an hour of training. So please don't beat yourself up about it, guy. This seems a lot more like bad luck on your end."

"I… I mean, I'm flattered you think that, but… I shouldn't have let myself get involved in the first place," Connor sighed, abject as his head hung low. "Like, obviously I care about my Pokémon, but a good trainer wouldn't have let himself get involved. I messed up badly."

"Well, nobody can become a good trainer after an hour, Connor - and you did a good job, recalling him before serious damage could have been done. Being a Pokémon trainer is a learning curve, and anyone can do it if they're determined enough. Besides, you said yourself that you don't think you had a choice to get involved, so why blame yourself? My advice to you would be to stop being so hard on yourself, young man. Losing is hardly the end of the world."

He carefully considered these words. Whilst the nurse was right, it still didn't justify putting his Pokémon in danger like he did - however, that was beside the point. He had promised himself that he'd move on, and so far, he was doing a pretty poor job of that. With a half-smile, he looked at the nurse and nodded, faint determination visible on his face. "Alright. Yeah. I'll bear that in mind. Thanks."

"Anytime!"

On that note, he took a seat at one of the tables in the Center. One of the perks of starting on a Tuesday was that most people were at work or school; as such, Pokémon Centers would often be quite empty, as they were now. Indeed, aside from the people that worked there, the only other person in the Center was a trainer with an… interesting fashion sense, who seemed to be trying to gain the trust of his Gible (and failing). Connor couldn't help but wonder what someone with a Gible was doing in Sandgem - or any Dragon-type, for that matter. Not wishing to intrude, he pulled out the Pokéball and released Aron onto the table.

"Hey, Aron," he uttered quietly, radiating a soft smile - one that he couldn't help feel that came off as brittle and weak, and caused Aron to flinch slightly, shoot a somewhat uncomfortable glance to the side. His trainer inhaled through his nose, pausing briefly to thinking of a plan of action. The first time he and Aron had met had ended in Aron getting hurt - so it wasn't out of the question to assume Aron associated him with getting hurt. The solution was obvious, then; he had to prove that he was not, in fact, a threat, and had his best interests at heart.

Connor carefully lay out an open palm in front of the Steel-type, looking him straight in the eyes as he tried to strengthen his smile. "Look," he began slowly, his tone as though he was talking to a small child. "I'm sorry, bud. I didn't mean to get you hurt so bad. It was stupid on my part, and I'm truly sorry. It won't happen again, I promise. You might not be the strongest now, but with a little hard work and training, you can become way stronger than that Croagunk."

As he finished his monologue, the emotion in his voice became more and more evident, the determination in it raw and clear. "I believe in you, little guy, and in future, I'll try to keep you out of stuff like that, and we'll work on getting me smarter and getting you toughened up so that we can kick mean old Hawley's butt together, because one day, there'll be nothing we won't be able to do! Does that sound alright to you, Aron?!"

Aron considered this. Of course, being a Pokémon and lacking any telepathic skills, he understood very little of what his trainer was saying, but the overall message he got was a positive one. His words were warm, his body language friendly, and his delivery full of emotion… Aron couldn't mistake it. It was clear to him that Connor meant no harm; rather, he was just a little green; for now, he was definitely worth placing his trust in. The Steel-type chirped an excited 'ar!' as he approached the outstretched palm, placing a little stub of his own on it.

Connor laughed in relief, reaching into his pocket to pull out another piece of iron. As he did so, he noticed the Gible's trainer was giving him a half-bemused, half-impressed look. Nervously, he raised a hand as if to apologize, before putting the iron on the table before his Pokémon.

This was going to be hard work, Connor thought, but he might just make it yet.

* * *

 **Pokémon Stats - Croagunk**

 **\- Trainer: Hawley Wilkins**

 **\- Gender: Female**

 **\- Type: Fighting/Poison**

 **\- Ability: Anticipation**

 **\- Level: 12**

 **HP: D (48)**

 **Attack: C (61)**

 **Defence: E (40)**

 **Special Attack: C (61)**

 **Special Defence: E (40)**

 **Speed: D (50)**

 ** _"Croagunk is a Pokémon known for being laidback and carefree, nonchalant in battle. It doesn't often play fair, and both Croagunk and its evolution have become a staple of rogue-ish characters or villains in movies and TV shows alike. Conversely, though, its relaxed nature makes it easy to care for (so long as physical contact is made with protection) and this has led to it becoming the child-friendly mascot of numerous corporations and, more bizarrely, an internet meme in recent years due to its perpetually smug expression."_**


	3. Welcome to the Machine (3)

**_09:30 - October 9th, 2007_**

 _Life_ , as Connor's uncle had always said, _is like the seas. Sometimes it's calm and easy, other times rough and full of danger, but with a bit of luck, wisdom and persistence, anyone can get through it._

That statement rang true in Connor's head at that very moment. So what if the last two and a half hours had been an almost complete trainwreck, he thought as the seaside winds filled his lungs? It didn't matter too much as long as he still had Aron onside, and if that rocky introduction hadn't sent their relationship off course, it would probably be smooth sailing from here on out. If he could keep his head up after that, if he could stay out of the way of dangers like Hawley, and if he just kept going, then everything would be fine.

If being the key word, of course.

The professor's lab, decayed by time and weather, still stood tall as it loomed over Connor. It was clear that the building had seen many trainers over the years, and it wasn't a stretch to say that several generations of professors had looked over it, too. Of course, Connor had seen it quite a few times in books and photos, even up close once or twice, but the feeling that swept over him was entirely different now. This was where his journey would officially begin, where he could leave his past as an insignificant youth behind him. His loneliness, his school years, his boredom were relics of a different time as he lay a hand on the cold door handle.

From this moment on, the world was Connor's oyster. The future lay ahead of him, and he was free to do what he wished with it.

At least, that was the plan.

The door swung open to reveal a more modern, yet quite busy interior. Easily the most useless piece of trivia Connor had found on his bored forays on the web were the dimensions of the first floor of the lab was 42' by 48' - just long enough to fit a Wailord in - and yet it seemed a lot smaller than that. Men and women in lab coats surrounded him, and in turn, they were surrounded by computers, bookcases and Pokémon alike. Oh, the Pokémon. The moment he stepped into the lab, Connor recognised no less than nine different species in the lab, ranging from Turtwig and Starly to Luxray and Drapion, and each of them seemed to be in great shape, too. A smile lit up Connor's face as he saw this, looking around like a child in a chocolate factory. If the whole trainer thing backfired, his backup plan was to study and become a professor of his own; considering how wonderful, how magnificent this place where people and Pokémon worked together was, however, made him feel as though he might have picked the wrong career choice.

"Impressive, isn't it, eh?"

Connor's head darted up to his side, navigating up a vast lab coat and black t-shirt to see a well-made man of about thirty-five grinning widely down at him, extending out a hand much larger than his own as his emerald eyes shined at the trainer through a clean pair of glasses. The man, his short black hair glimmering in the light of the lab, was powerful and booming in his speech; he stood almost a foot taller than Connor, and yet somehow it felt like it was more - the guy was built like a Terrakion and had a voice to match, too. Connor couldn't help but feel as if he was in the presence of a comic book hero.

"Professor Murphy, at your service," said the man, continuing to hold out his hand.

"Oh… uh, no thanks, sir," mumbled Connor, darting his eyes back and forth at the outstretched hand.

"Ah, I see! No worries! And you are…?"

"Connor, sir."

Murphy paused for a moment, giving Connor _almost_ enough time to go on one of his paranoid tangents before he gave an earth-shattering laugh. "There's no need for all this 'sir' business, young man! Are you from around these parts?"

"Jubilife, si- er, Murphy."

"Oh, wonderful! We get a lot of trainers from Jubilife coming up here, and a lot of them seem to be about your age, you know. I reckon we've had no less than ten in the past week! Say, would you happen to know a Steven Peters?"

"...No."

"Florence Martin?"

"Nope."

The professor began rubbing his chin with his colossal hands, his "Uh… who else have we had… Torvald Henriksen?"

Connor shook his head.

"Hawley Wilkins?"

Connor grimaced, sucking in through his teeth. "I wouldn't exactly say we're _close_. But aside from him, I, uh… I'm not really familiar with anyone else, aye."

"Oh… Oh, right, I see. So you're not really a people's person then?"

"That's the gist of it, I suppose."

Murphy considered this for a moment, before his smile returned. "No matter! Introverted Pokémon masters are hardly rare. You must be more of a Pokémon guy, then, mustn't you?"

Connor's eyes lit up as he nodded frantically, much to Murphy's delight.

"Haha! That's what I like to hear! You've got the most important part of being a trainer down, then," he said as he glanced around, surveying the area for an empty workspace or table. None. "Hm… say, would you be willing to come along to somewhere less crowded? That way, we can get the paperwork and what-have-you out of the way in peace."

"I guess?"

"Excellent! Follow me!"

With that, the professor strode out of the room and up some stairs, with Connor following close behind. Each footstep the man made was a loud thud, punctuating the tune he was humming; more specifically, Connor noted, the tune of the Sinnoh League anthem. It wasn't exactly going to give Meloetta a run for her money, of course, but it did get Connor thinking. It'd been a while since he'd watched the League, but he did vaguely recall a Murphy getting quite far in last year's edition of the tournament. Was this the same guy? This year's tournament was set to be from December 9th until the 23rd… was he preparing to compete again?

"So, Connor, was it? Out of curiosity, what would you say your favourite species of Pokémon is?" asked the professor, interrupting this train of thought.

"Favourite?" replied Connor, wracking his brain to respond. This was a question he asked himself a lot, yet for someone who'd spent so much time reading into Pokémon, it kind of frustrated him that he didn't really have a definite answer. Ever since he was a kid, his favourite would change depending on his interests. Connor decided to just go with his favourite at that moment.

"...I would _probably_ have to say Bisharp? I dunno. Steel-types are pretty cool, and there was that one goofy old show about that guy who dressed up like one and went around kicking the crap out of bad guys, wasn't there? That was fun."

"Ah, from the Unova region! Exotic! Good choice, young man, if I do say so myself. And Masked Ranger is a _classic!_ "

Connor couldn't help but let out a slight chuckle at Murphy's enthusiasm.

"Do you already have a Pokémon of your own, Connor?" asked the professor.

"Yeah. An Aron. I only got him a couple of hours ago, but he's a pretty swell little dude," said Connor in response. "I can't wait to see how he is in battle!"

"That's the spirit! Aron's a fine choice for a starter, too; it's good for beginners, it can hold its own in battle and evolves into something very impressive. There's a new technique that I'm hearing of that's spreading to Sinnoh as of recent. Mega Evolution or something; it's originally from Kalos, I believe? I know only a few Pokémon are capable of doing it, but I think Aggron's one of 'em."

Connor had to stop himself from telling the professor about the battle he had recently had, in which Aron could not, in fact, hold its own. This Mega Evolution thing didn't ring any bells, though; he'd have to do some reading on it if he could. Was it permanent? Was it difficult to pull off? Were there any special requirements for using it? Connor guessed that using it would come with some sort of physical strain. but nevertheless, it was definitely something he'd need to look into. Either way, he had to admit, the term 'Mega Evolution' alone sounded just cool enough for him to want to give it a try.

"Sounds neat!" he said, grinning.

"Aye, it does," noted Murphy, "but I've _heard_ it's very difficult to pull off. You'd need a Key Stone, for starters, and I really have no idea how you'd get one in Sinnoh - and believe me, I've tried. You also need the Mega Stone for Aggron, and you'd have the same problem there. The third thing you need is a _very_ strong bond with your Pokémon. That'll probably come over time, of course, but it'll still end up taking a long time."

"Oh. That's less neat," responded Connor, his grin fading as faint disappointment lingered in his voice.

Silence filled the corridor, punctuated only by the pair's footsteps.

The professor took note of Connor's response, as he quickly sought to correct his error - after all, what sort of professor would knock a kid down like that so soon into their journey? It was part of his job to make these kids believe they could do anything, and if that meant excessive optimism, then so be it!

"Oh, but that isn't to say it isn't impossible, of course! By the time you'll have an Aggron on your hands, I reckon we'll know enough about it to help you out with it. And I'd hazard a guess and say you'll probably have fully evolved your little friend around the time you get your sixth, maybe seventh badge?" said the professor, his smile wide as ever.

Connor considered this for a moment. According to his plan, his sixth and seventh gyms would be Canalave and Snowpoint respectively, and considering the strength of Canalave's gym, it would make sense for him to get Aggron at around that point, provided he kept Aggron as the strongest member of his party.

"I'll tell you what, I'll make you a deal!" said Murphy. "If you come back here with six badges and an Aggron, I'll do everything in my power to get you the equipment you'd need to start practicing Mega Evolution. That sound fair?"

"I… I mean, doesn't that sound dangerous? I appreciate it and all, but Mega Evolution sounds like it could have some pretty bad consequences if used irresponsibly. Also, should I know more about this before I get into it?" nervously replied Connor, trying his hardest to suppress a wince.

 _Really?!_ thought the kid to himself.

The professor merely gave him a bemused look. "...I can sorta see what you mean when you say you're not a people person, eh?" He gave a loud, hearty chuckle, almost like a gentle roar, before continuing. "Don't worry so much about it! I mean, I am obliged to mention Mega Evolution can exhaust you and your Pokémon if used too irresponsibly, but… it's basically nothing, anyway, haha! Besides, that's what practice is for, eh?" he asked in a jovial tone.

"I… I mean, sure?" replied a confused Connor.

"Besides, even if you and Aron don't click well enough to pull off Mega Evolution, you can still try your hand with other Pokémon - that's the beauty of being a trainer! As a matter of fact, there are two pieces of advice, Connor, that I give to every new trainer who comes to me. Wanna hear 'em?" asked the professor, giving a warm, encouraging smile.

Connor nodded. Was he really like this with _every_ trainer - so upbeat, so encouraging, so hopeful? The guy clearly knew what he was talking about; besides, if his hunch was correct, this guy had come quite close to becoming Champion of the Sinnoh League not long ago. Advice from him certainly wouldn't be a hindrance.

"Rule number one: in this world, nobody out there, person or Pokémon, is born truly evil. As naive as it sounds, nobody is made bad; rather, the rest of the world may have made them that way. They may have good intentions but have gotten lost along the way. They may have grown cold, perhaps bitter, to the world, but there will still be good deep down within them. Heck, you may even just be misunderstanding them. My point is, be good to everyone. If you can do that, goodness will spread, and you'll make the world a better place in your own way."

This was a sentiment Connor strongly agreed with when he thought about it. It made sense - nobody views themselves as the villain, after all. He doubted even someone as rotten as Hawley deliberately chose to be bad. Besides, sinking down to that level would make Connor no different from him.

"And rule number two: as bad as things may seem, you must never give up on what you want to do, or what you believe in. If you fail once, it doesn't matter, so long as you pick yourself up and try again. Defeat doesn't come in a single failure or two, it comes in giving up and throwing your tools down. You mustn't let the world get you down, because that's how people go rotten and bad. If you don't let anything get in your way, then what can possibly stop you?"

These words truly resonated with Connor who stood beside the professor. Something sounded different between Murphy's philosophy and the trainer's own mantra to keep his spirit afloat. Before he could think about this more, however, the professor stopped next to a door.

"But you didn't come here for lectures about how the world works, didya, son? No, you came here to get yourself a license and a Pokédex! After all, you can't go on an adventure without those, can you?"

A grin of glee flashed across Connor's face as Murphy swung the door open. If one was to judge only by the look on his face at that moment, they'd probably come to the conclusion that he had just barged into the living room on Christmas morning and was greeted by gifts smattered underneath a massive Christmas tree. That was, of course, not the case, but the sight of some paperwork stacked on a desk and Pokédexes on a shelf had a similar effect. Sure, the hats he'd seen in movies and on TV were missing - "we really weren't expecting such high demand for the hats," remarked a more than slightly bemused Murphy - and Connor would have been lying if he'd said that he wasn't a little bummed to be missing out on his obligatory cool hat, but that was beside the point! This was it! He was finally officially about to become a trainer! From this point on, he was free to make new friends, meet all different types Pokémon, take on the gyms of Sinnoh and become the best in the land! Connor felt ecstatic - at that moment, he was convinced there was nothing that would have made him felt any better.

Aside from having one of those hats, of course, but you can't have _everything_.

Murphy had to duck his head under the door frame as he walked into the room - standing tall at a towering six foot five, he'd smacked his head into it more times than he was proud to admit - with the eager novice behind him following him in. The professor's tree trunk-like legs pounded on the wooden floor with each step, before he pulled out a chair from the desk at the heart of the room. Connor was quite amazed at the sight of the professor's colossus of a frame being able to fit on the chair, his shoulders hunching as his massive arms, built like hammers, landed on the desk, his forearms almost as tall as the unkempt stack of paper next to him, on his took a seat on a more modern, bigger and decidedly more comfortable-looking, big black chair across from the professor.

"You don't mind if I ask you something, do you, Professor?" enquired Connor, curious.

"By all means, go ahead! And please, call me Murphy, I insist!" graciously replied the professor.

"Why don't you use this chair instead of that old one you're sitting on? It seems like it'd be a lot easier on your back."

"Well, because this room is for your start as a trainer, and the entire process is all about you - that's why you should have the best chair in the house, of course!"

"...Are you sure you don't want this?" asked a flattered Connor, still concerned about the professor's level of comfort.

"No, no, it's fine, really! You can keep it!" chimed the professor, his optimism still very much present.

"Okay, thanks, but like... why don't you have _two_ chairs like this?" wondered an audibly concerned Connor.

"Why would I need one? My main priority for the lab isn't my back, it's getting kids like you kitted out to be a trainer! Speaking of, shall we move onto that? I appreciate your concern, but you worrying about my back isn't going to get you your license papers signed, is it?" responded the professor, chuckling wryly at his last comment.

"Oh, right, yeah."

The professor pulled out a top sheet of paper from the neater pile of paper, on his right. "Now, first things first, what's your surname, Connor?" inquired the professor, clicking a pen Connor was amazed he didn't crush with his massive palm.

"Murdoch."

"Mhm. Connor Murdoch, alright," noted the professor, scrawling down this information. "And your date of birth is?"

"January 26th, 1991."

"So you're sixteen?"

"Correct."

"Gotcha. And you're from Jubilife, already have an Aron... do you have a name for your Aron?"

Connor hadn't actually given this any thought, in actuality. A nickname would be a good idea, of course - it would have been boring to merely call him Aron, and Connor didn't feel right doing that. It also had a practical use, too; what if he got lost in an area with several Aron, and had to call a name? He quickly wracked his brain, before settling on something.

"Yeah, I'm calling him Ronnie," he decided. Ronnie. It was snappy, and he'd heard about a musician with that name. Of course, he'd had to run it by his Pokémon first, but he was optimistic - Aron was a pretty happy camper, after all; he doubted the Steel-type would have many problems with that name.

"Good choice. Now, what are your parents' names?"

"Dad's called Michael, Mom's called Lindsey."

"And they both have the same surname?"

"Yep."

"Right. And I trust that you got their written consent to head out, right?"

"Well, they were reluctant, but gimme a sec," replied Connor, reaching into his bag and digging around, searching until he pulled out a slightly crumpled piece of paper and handed it over to the professor, who scanned it for a number of seconds before nodding.

"Cool, but you _do_ know that an emergency contact number isn't necessary if you're 16 or over, right?" replied the professor, giving a bemused smile.

"Hah... well, you know, they insisted. Parents, am I right?" chuckled Connor, his eyes darting to the side as he went a soft, flustered red. An emergency contact number? What was he, eight? Did they _really_ have that little faith in him?

"Fair enough, I suppose! Now, Connor, for the next part of the process, I'm going to ask you some questions - about Pokémon care and general trainer information. After all, we can't just let any random guy go around with a potentially dangerous creature if they have no idea what they're doing, can we? I'm sure you'll be fine, though," informed Murphy, his constant smile shifting into one of encouragement.

Connor wasn't actually aware there was a test. His eyes widened a bit in shock, but he came to terms with it fairly quickly, nodding as he jogged his memory for things he'd read about the subjects at hand. "That makes sense, I guess," he responded, giving a somewhat self-assured grin. "Hit me with 'em."

"Alright. So question one: what are some of the functions that Pokémon Centers serve for trainers?"

"Healing Pokémon, boarding for Pokémon whilst trainers are away, selling equipment for trainers or Pokémon food, giving information to trainers, um... PC storage-"

"That'll do, that'll do," Murphy chuckled as he scrawled down some notes on his paper. "Question two: in a battle, an attack on your Pokémon draws blood and you notice your Pokémon's attacks are becoming weaker and weaker. What do you do?"

"Withdraw it and put the battle on hold to patch up the Pokémon. Always keep potions of some sort and bandages on hand to treat these wounds, and head to a Pokémon Center whenever possible."

"Alright. Question three: you're dragged into a battle in self-defense against, say, a dangerous criminal. You notice you have an opening to attack that criminal directly, avoiding the Pokémon. Do you capitalize on that opening?"

"Not under any circumstances. The criminal will likely have quite a strong bond with their Pokémon, and, if I go straight for the criminal, it leaves me open to an attack by a Pokémon trying to protect its own trainer."

"Okay. Question four: in the unlikely event you find yourself within the territory of a mythical or legendary Pokémon, what should you do?"

"Retrace my steps and exit the area, being sure not to attract the attention of the Pokémon. Engaging in combat is suicidal."

"And the fifth and last question: your starter Pokémon is an Aron - what do you know about caring for it?"

"Hmm... well, Aron primarily eat metals, and it's a good idea to feed it a variety of different types - iron being the staple of the diet, supplemented by, say, aluminium and copper. They need about half a liter of water and should be free to roam outside of a Pokéball for at least two hours per day. Keep them away from Fighting- or Ground-type attacks as much as possible, and try to discourage behaviours like headbutting or nuzzling, because it could lead to me getting hurt when it evolves into Lairon and Aggron."

"That concludes the test," stated the professor as he clicked his pen and put it down, "and I'm glad to say you passed with flying colours - you're officially ready to become a trainer!"

Connor was visibly delighted at this development, as his eyes lit up and he smiled. "Oh, neat!"

"I must say, your knowledge is impressive, young man! If your skills on the field are half as good as that, you'll get through the gyms in no time," noted Murphy as he rose from his chair.

"Well, gee, thanks, haha! Let's just hope that they are, eh?" replied Connor, growing even more flustered as his slightly yellowed grin spread from cheek to cheek.

"Aye," replied Murphy with a chuckle, amused by his response. Words really were not this kid's strong point, were they? But that didn't concern the professor in the slightest. So what if he wasn't the most socially competent? The kid definitely knew his stuff, that was for sure, and he was obviously passionate about being a trainer. In Murphy's book, that was already a fantastic start. Giving him the chance to do this was a no-brainer. After all, what was the worst that was going to happen? He scanned the Pokédexes on the shelf before him, before turning back to Connor. "What's your favorite color, by the way?"

"Red."

Murphy gently picked up one of the red Pokédexes. "I believe that this is yours now, then, eh?" remarked the professor as he carefully held the device in his massive hand, walking back over to the desk and standing over it as he handed the Pokédex to Connor. "I'm assuming you already know how it works?"

"Funnily enough, I don't!" responded Connor, delighted at the impression he seemed to have made on the professor. However, it was at that moment the professor's smile faded ever so slightly, prompting a thought to cross his mind and the look of joy on his face to turn into one of mild panic. "...I _will_ still be able to take it with me though, won't I?"

"Oh, of course, don't worry about that!" urged the professor, having taken a moment to think about the functions of the 'dex before handing it to Connor. "It just means I'll have to explain to you how it works, is all!"

"Ahhh, right," said Connor, relieved as he wiped some metaphorical sweat from his brow. He graciously accepted the device from the professor and flipped it over to glance at the back, scanning the glossy red finish and clear black camera lens on the back.

"When you encounter a Pokémon, you can scan it with the camera you can see on the back. The 'dex will tell you the species of the Pokémon, give you a rough estimation of how strong it is relative to its species - for example, a newly born Pokémon will have a power level of one, whereas a Pokémon at the absolute peak of its powers will have one of 100. Certain species will evolve at roughly the same levels - but I'm assuming you know how to manually stop evolution, right?"

"Yeah, you just give the Pokémon an Everstone or touch it, right?"

"Aye. The level system's a pretty iffy system, and not really one that I'm a fan of, personally, but hey, it works," began the professor.

Connor considered this for a moment. He wondered what level his Aron was.

"Once you've scanned the Pokémon, you should be able to access information about that species that'll have been written by professors - like me, for example - or other, qualified trainers. It's a pretty nifty piece of equipment for all factors of Pokémon care. Anyway, the most famous feature it's used for is listing the types of Pokémon you've encountered and indexing them according to species number. I believe the section of the 'dex with the Pokémon that were originally from Sinnoh starts at #387, with Turtwig...? Yeah, that sounds about right. You can also find a list of all the Pokémon that can be found in the region if you just press the book icon at the bottom of the screen... and I _think_ that's everything you need to know! It may sound like a lot for now, but trust me, it'll become second nature over time - and you'll also discover some other features in time, too. Pretty handy, eh?"

"Yeah, absolutely!" marveled Connor, open-mouthed and googly-eyed in amazement. His eyes had lit up as the professor went through all of this. Such a high-tech piece of kit, such a handy source of information for Pokémon trainers, and he finally had one of his own! Oh, he'd dreamt about this day for so long, and he could still scarcely believe it was finally here!

"Hah, it's good to see you're so excited about this! You know, I don't think I've seen anyone get so happy about becoming a trainer in months! Anyway, you're free to leave now. If you have any other questions, I'd be glad to hear them, and if your Pokédex gets damaged, come back to me and I'll gladly try and get you sorted with a new one," informed the professor.

"Actually, I do have one question," asked Connor.

"Shoot!"

"Out of curiosity - like, I absolutely do not plan on doing this at any point, nor do I particularly want this to happen to me, trust me - do you happen to know - and once again I wanna reiterate I don't have a death wish - if there's a protocol for what to do with a legendary or a mythical Pokémon if you see one in the wild? Asking for a friend, of course."

An awkward grin spread across his face, despite his best efforts, as he went slightly red. This was a lie, of course - spotting a legendary in the wild would be an absolute treat, and, in fairness, it wouldn't be irrational to assume that most people had thought about it at least once. But at the same time, what if it did happen to him? It would be pretty damn neat, for one, and there was always the possibility that it wasn't hostile.

"You aren't _planning_ on meeting one, are you?" asked a somewhat concerned Murphy, catching onto this rather poorly masked lie.

"I mean, no - where would I even find one? This is all just hypothetical of course, but like, what if, y'know?" rebuked Connor.

"Hah! You have a pretty admirable attitude, I must say! Well, for what it's worth, Connor, I'll offer you one piece of information: whilst it's absolutely not advised to approach one - like, ever, maybe unless you're the Champion of the League or something - there are some stories of trainers who have met such Pokémon and lived to tell the tale. There're even legends that some have managed to befriend these Pokémon and fight alongside them - although personally, I think that's just a myth, myself."

"Oh, really? Neat! Thanks for the info!"

"No problem, but I'm obliged to add, as a professor, that if you see a legendary, or a mythical in the wild, you're supposed to run away. They are dangerous, after all," added Murphy, running through his warning in a monotone voice. "Anything else?"

"Nope, I'm good. Thanks a lot, si- er, prof- uh, Murphy!" chirped Connor, peeling himself from the comfort of the leather chair and coming to his feet.

"Anytime, young man! Don't hesitate to come to me if you need anything, remember what I said about the 'dex, and most importantly - good luck on your journey! Now, have fun out there!" said Murphy, the wooden chair screeching across the ground as it was thrust back by the professor standing up and pushing it back.

Connor, tucking his Pokédex in his pocket, strolled out of the room and left the lab with a spring in his step.

* * *

As Connor exited the lab, stepping foot onto the ground of Sandgem, his lungs filled up with the salty seaside breeze once again. Try as he might, he couldn't take his mind off this feeling of freedom he was experiencing. What was his first order of business, he wondered? Getting started with preparing for the Oreburgh Gym was far from a bad idea - if his memory served him correctly, that was a gym renowned for being pretty difficult for newcomers. His dad also worked with the gym leader in the mines, mind, and his accounts seemed to back that up. Yeah, he decided, that was what he was gonna do. He hadn't gone on this adventure to just goof about, after all - there was work to be done! Besides, for all he knew, Hawley was probably a step ahead of him, curbstomping some poor Kricketot that got in his way or something, and he'd be _damned_ if he let that bastard beat him to the gyms.

However, as he approached Route 202 in order to start training, he was met with quite the sight.

The oddly-dressed trainer from the Pokémon Center, with his Gible, had gotten into an altercation of some sort, he noticed, and it seemed to be getting quite heated. He went to hide in the trees in order to get a better view without disturbing either of the parties, in order to see what was going on.

"You really think that I, the great Reyes Vasquez, am gonna let you get away with this?" coolly remarked the trainer of the Gible, his words sharp as a knife. His body draped in a brilliant blue longcoat as he tightened the long, red headband carefully wrapped around his long, glossy black hair and olive-skinned forehead. Connor deduced from his thick accent that he probably wasn't from around these parts, but he couldn't quite tell where from. His Gible stood just above knee height, a scowl etched on its face as it bared teeth, snarling at his opponent with a growl - well, it sounded more like a small car engine running, but it was a growl nonetheless. The newbie trainer found this quite adorable.

"The great...? Look, kid, I dunno who ya think you are, or where ya came from, but things work differently in Sinnoh. When a stranger tells ya to hand over ya Pokémon, ya hand over ya Pokémon. It's da polite thing tah do, after all - I'm just makin' a polite request is all. I've got da moral high ground here, after all. 'Sides, that whole 'the great' spiel don't scare me, ya know - just hand it over or things _might_ hafta get a little more violent, as in, 'I _might_ hafta beat your ass,' ya understand?" replied the other guy, clearly undeterred by this Reyes fellow's declaration. This man was dressed in a darker outfit, with gloves, black sweater and trousers and an ill-fitting mask that just about covered the area around his eyes and nose.

A hold-up? In _this_ part of the world? Not at all what Connor had hoped to see so soon into his adventure. He decided the best course of action here was to stay quiet and not get himself or Ronnie hurt, and hope the situation defused itself peacefully with the would-be thief running away. As heinous as this villain seemed to be, trying to get involved with a Pokémon as green as his Aron wouldn't do anyone any good.

" _Polite request?_ this is what you consider polite in Sinnoh, then I must say, your culture is very strange," dismissed Reyes casually, before exploding into a louder, more emotional tone. "But that is irrelevant! What you're doing is cruel and wrong, and if you think you can go around stealing people's Pokémon, you are _sorely_ mistaken about where the moral high ground is! Now, you have five seconds to scram, before me and my... uh, Gabble? Before we kick your ass!" declared the trainer, hesitating on the pronunciation of his Pokémon's name.

"Gible," corrected Connor casually.

"Thanks! Five," called out Reyes with a smile, still keeping his focus on the thief. The thief, however, did not have the same idea, as his head whipped towards the bushes at such a speed, it was a miracle he didn't get whiplash.

 _Crap._

Connor's eyes widened and face whitened in horror as he realized his mistake, smacking his hands against his mouth.

"Oi! Show yaself, nitwit! I wantcha to come out widcha hands up," called out the attempted thief, "or I'll do ya face in, capiche?"

The trainer gulped. He felt his hands clench the insides of his pockets as he slowly rose to his feet, raising his hands. He noticed the thief scanning him carefully - but why? Was he looking to take his Pokémon, too, or just seeing if he was a threat? Connor's head was a mess of thoughts as he tried to figure out what the deal with the man was.

"Right, wasn't so hard, was that, Sonny Jim, eh? Now, I was just sayin' to dis fella here, I'm… how can a guy say this… in need of some Pokémon, so tah speak. And I was also sayin', that da charitable thing tah do in this situation would be tah hand 'em over, y'know? So, wouldya be willin' tah help a guy out? Wouldya be so kind as tah gimme ya Pokémon, please, sir?" asked the thief, cutely.

"Wh… well… I, uh… I only just got him a couple of hours ago, for one. And would you even know how to look after him, anyways? I'm sorry, but I'll have to say no, sir."

"Hah. You wanna go about it like dat, then, eh?"

"Go about it like… what, exactly?"

"Oh, a wise guy, are ya? I don't take too kindly to guys like you, stompin' on the rights of little guys like me. I'll ask again before I gotta get a little rough. Wouldya _please_ hand over ya Pokémon?"

Connor was growing visibly uncomfortable, beginning to sweat as his arms grew tired. "I, uh… I wouldn't like any trouble, mister, but I don't know if you'd, how can I say this… I'm not sure you'd qualified to look after him. Now, please leave me alone."

"Don't tell me what tah do, wise guy! And keep those arms up!"

"...One. Gible," ordered Reyes coolly after a few seconds had passed.

"Gib!" grunted the Dragon-type, digging a leg into the ground and preparing to launch itself at the thief.

"Huh-"

Gible, having seemingly morphed into a blue blur, smashed into the thief's leg with the force of a cannonball. Connor winced, just about managing to withhold a cuss as a loud and rather unpleasant cracking noise rushed through the air. The impact of the Take Down attack knocked the thief off his feet and caused him to let out a yelp of agony. He was reduced to a quivering heap of limbs and black, every muscle in his face working at full capacity to prevent him from either screaming or bursting into tears.

"Good boy!" offered Reyes with a wide smile, as Gible rushed over to him with a squeal of glee. The Pokémon's trainer, standing roughly seven inches taller than Connor, shifted into a squatting position to wrap his arms around the Dragon-type before springing to his feet, standing tall with a content Gible in his clutch.

"Is he alright?!" asked Connor in almost a shriek, still recoiling from the sight of the injured thief.

"Oh, him? Calf might be a bit ruined, fibula might be a bit broken, but eh. Guy was a Pokémon thief. Had it coming. Thanks for the diverting," offered Reyes, still smiling.

"Uh... thanks?" responded Connor, unsure what to make of the situation. Reyes' reasoning for such a brutal attack checked out, and whilst he thought breaking the poor guy's leg was perhaps a _tad_ too far, he had to be stopped.

"Hey, you're the guy from the Pokémon Center, correct?"

"Aye."

"Nice to meet you. I'm-"

"The great Reyes Vasquez?"

"Hah! Yup, that would be me. And you are?"

"My name's Connor, and, uh… feeling's mutual, I guess?"

"Nicely met, Connor. Say, you would not mind doing a bit of... how can I put it, walking and talking? I'm new to the region - from Hoenn - and I dunno the way around, see."

"Um... well, uh... I mean, I don't see a problem with that?" sheepishly made out Connor in response, feeling bad about the prospect of letting the guy down.

"Excellent! Many thanks!" beamed Reyes, looking down at Connor with glee.

"Yeah, don't mention it," replied Connor, giving a more nervous smile in response. "So… should I lead the way?"

"Go ahead!"

* * *

 ** _Trainer Profile: Connor Murdoch_**

 ** _Age: 16 (D.O.B: January 16th, 1991)_**

 ** _Hometown: Jubilife City, Sinnoh_**

 ** _Team:_**

 ** _\- Male Aron (level 10, nicknamed Ronnie; ability: Rock Head)_**


	4. They Call Me the Seeker (1)

_**DISCLAIMER:** I don't own Pokémon (that belongs to Game Freak), nor do I own the song "The Seeker" by the Who, which this arc is named after._

* * *

 ** _10:42 - October 9th, 2007_**

"So, where did you learn to deal with Pokémon like in the Center?"

Connor turned to face his newfound companion with a soft grin in response to this question. He wasn't sure what Reyes considered so impressive, if he was being honest; his speech at the Center was simply him getting stuff off his chest, and the way he handled Ronnie was just what he felt was natural. Besides, this guy had a Dragon-type in his arms - and a Dragon-type that seemed perfectly happy with him at that. Those were a lot harder to get the respect of than, say, his Aron. He was intrigued.

"I read about Pokémon behaviour a lot in my spare time, but I hadn't really put it into action before then. Why'd you ask?"

Reyes seemed a tad bemused at this. "I see. How long have you been training for?"

"About three hours."

Reyes blinked in surprise, as if he wasn't sure he'd heard that right. "Three hours?!" he shrieked incredulously, and perhaps with a hint of exaggeration. "You were an Aron yourself in a past life, surely? We have plenty of them at home, and I don't think I've seen one so good towards a person in… well, ever, really."

Connor considered this. "Perhaps I just got lucky with him?" he shrugged.

The two had been walking along Route 202 for about ten minutes, mostly in an awkward silence before this. The euphoria Connor was feeling about becoming a trainer was still present, a fuzzy warmth of some sort still lingering within him, and whilst the reality was beginning to set in, he still had a spring in his step. Reyes, meanwhile, had been spending the walk to that point whistling and minding his own business, his Gible quiet and generally pleased with the state of things. The sight of this reminded him that his own Pokémon was still in his ball, and he decided that it'd probably be a good idea to actually let him out - it'd be good to get some fresh air, and Connor still needed to test whether Ronnie was actually an okay name or not. "Yo, hey, would you mind if I get him out of his ball? I wanna run some stuff by him, and try and see how he is around other people."

"No problemo, friendo!" was Reyes' upbeat reply, a sparkling beam of a smile spread from ear to ear.

He grabbed the ball at the front of his belt and gently pressed down the button on its front, releasing a stream of blue light onto the ground below. The Aron that materialised from the light was greeted with the sight of his diminutive trainer squatting down until he was only a couple of feet taller than the Steel-type.

"Hey, buddy!" gently began Connor, his opened hand facing the Pokémon as if to ask if a pet was okay. The Aron let out a content "ar!", waiting for his trainer to rub his face, to which he obliged with a chuckle.

"Would you like a name, little guy? I don't know about _you,_ but it'd be a bit dull if I didn't give you a nickname, y'know?"

The Aron let out a soft, questioning grunt as he tilted his head, eyes fully open and returning Connor's gaze.

"How does Ronnie sound?"

There was a brief pause, as it seemed almost as though Aron was mulling it over as his trainer watched closely. To the onlooking - and quite visibly impressed - Reyes, this pause seemed to last for about a minute before Aron let out a content chirp, lifting his head up and giving a pleased look to Connor.

"That's what I like to hear! Ronnie it is," rejoiced Connor, rewarding his Pokémon with a head rub before continuing. "Now, do you mind if we bring a friend along with us for a bit?"

Ronnie gave Connor a questioning look, before he was gestured to face Reyes, who was standing a couple of feet away. The sight of this young man, quite notably taller than his trainer and bearing his teeth in a wide grin, caused the Steel-type to hesitate somewhat, giving quite a disapproving, frightened glance at Connor.

"This is Reyes," began Connor reassuringly, pointing his open palm at his colleague with a soft grin. "He'll be traveling with us for the rest of the day or so, because he's new to this place and we're gonna show him around. You don't mind that, do you, little guy?"

Ronnie seemed unsure, glancing up at Reyes with a tentative expression. He waved at the Steel-type, his emerald eyes glimmering and a somewhat disconcerting smile etched on his face, seemingly immovable. The Aron took another look back at Connor. There was just something about his trainer that the Steel-type couldn't put his finger on - and not just because he didn't have a finger to speak of. No, he wasn't sure what, but something about him just seemed to make trusting him easy. Was it his gentle hazel eyes? His warm smile? His soft face? No, that wasn't it. Was it the way he spoke, the compassion in his voice? Or was it the way that the trainer just seemed to be able to read him like a book? Whatever it was, thought Ronnie, it gave him a feeling of security, of safety, of a warmth that he wasn't really familiar with. Sure, he had gotten into quite a nasty fight with that _damned_ Croagunk earlier, but to the Steel-type, it felt as though he had someone who cared about him, someone who truly had his best interests at heart. From what he'd seen growing up in the caves of Oreburgh, this was a trait he hadn't seen in humans before - not least to this extent. He wasn't sure why it was that he felt this way, but why question it? He trusted the human, and that was that.

"You... _are_ sure that he won't try to attack me or anything, no?" asked Reyes, getting increasingly nervous as he felt sweat begin to run down his brow.

The Steel-type let out a content grunt, nodding his head slowly at Reyes before giving a fond look at his trainer.

"Nice one, little guy!" chirped Connor, giving Ronnie another strong head rub in thanks before turning to Reyes. "Yeah, you should be good, but, uh... I wouldn't approach him until he's more familiar with you, if I were you. Just to be safe."

Reyes gave a relieved sigh and thumbs up at the Aron, trying his best to make a better impression than his first, before giving another look of disbelief with a raised eyebrow at Connor. "And you've been a trainer for _how_ long?"

"Kahaha... it's just what reading does to you, I s'ppose," replied a flustered Connor.

"Gib!" chimed the Dragon-type in Reyes' arms, giving an eager wave to greet its new Pokémon friend. The Steel-type waved one of its stumps back, before the group decided to continue walking down the route.

"So, Connor, would you be from around these parts? I've heard Jubilife is pretty damn big," asked Reyes, curiosity tinging his voice.

"Aye, Jubilife," replied Connor, his attention fixed on the path and looking around for any nearby wild Pokémon. "You said you were from Hoenn?"

"Correct. More specifically, my home is about a mile away from Ever Grande City. You ever heard of it?"

"Isn't that where they hold the League?"

"Ah, it is! Do you know much about the Hoenn League?"

Connor rubbed his chin as he jogged his memory before he answered. "...Not particularly, no. I've heard it's decently strong, and there are some very solid Steel- and Dragon-type specialists in the Elite Four, but other than that, nah. Not really my specialty."

"So it's true that even you guys over here know Antonio! Him and his Salamence are... I guess you could call them national _heroes_? Is that the word? Eh. If you ask me, he should be Champion. He's probably a lot stronger than the one we got now, but the head of the League has something personal against him. You should watch him in battle! He's really a thing to behold," gushed Reyes, his eyes sparkling.

"Interesting. Thanks for the tip," remarked Connor.

"No problem," said Reyes, before continuing under his breath. "Man, what I wouldn't give to be as good as that guy."

"Anyone else in the Hoenn League you reckon I should give a watch?"

"Not really. Antonio really is your guy to go to. Everyone knows it!"

Connor got the feeling that Reyes quite liked this Antonio fellow.

"Oh! But if you want to know more about Aggron, I _suppose_ you cannot go much wrong with Thomas. He's our resident Steel-type master, and you can probably find some of his clips online."

"Ah, gotcha. Thanks again."

"Don't mention it, my friend!"

The pair continued to walk onwards down the path, uninterrupted until Connor spotted a Starly perched in a nearby tree from the corner of his eye. This prompted him to whip out his Pokédex, aiming it at the Flying-type. As the gadget's camera focused on the Pokémon and scanned it, so, too, did Connor; he made a mental note of himself of some features of the Pokémon. The 'dex mentioned that the average height of one of these creatures was almost exactly one foot, but the newbie trainer hazarded a guess that this was about two inches smaller than that - it looked a bit uncomfortable up in that tree, too. Perhaps it still had pin feathers growing in? It seemed like a youngster to the Connor. The dex's readings seemed to support this hypothesis: the Pokémon was a mere level 2 on the scale - considerably weaker than Ronnie's 10 or this Gible's 15. His next move was to consider a way to safely get the Pokémon down for a closer look. It seemed unlikely that-

"Oi!"

Connor shot his head to the side, seeing that Reyes had continued for a bit without him. It occurred to him that he'd been completely distracted for about a minute, almost drawing an "eek!" out of him as he sprinted towards his new companion in a panic.

"Sorry! Got a bit distracted. Trying to get a good start on my Pokédex, is all," said a slightly embarrassed Connor, putting his hands up to apologise.

"Don't worry about it!" replied Reyes. "What Pokémon do you have around these parts, anyway? Are they like Hoenn's?"

"I don't think so. That Pokémon you saw me scan in the tree was a Starly, and on this route you'll also find a lot of Bidoof and maybe some Shinx or Kricketot, I believe. I don't think you have any of those much in Hoenn, do you?"

"I haven't heard of any of those," remarked Reyes with what could almost be described as a dry chuckle. "We just have Zigzagoon and Wurmple on our Route 102."

"That brings up something else I've been wondering, actually, if you wouldn't mind answering?"

"I don't mind, no - ask away!"

"Where did you get that Gible? Does he have a name?"

"Oh, this little guy? This is Garra. I got him as a gift from my family before I set off for here."

"...When was that?"

"I think it's been two, maybe three weeks? I've just been in Hearthome until recent. Wanna see something?" asked Reyes, preparing to roll up one of his sleeves whilst still firmly holding his Pokémon.

"Sure, go ahead," said Connor with a small, curious grin on his face. He was quite amazed at how he'd gotten Garra to behave so well in such a short amount of time. What was his secret? Could he speak the language of Pokémon? Was he actually a telepath who had been hiding it this whole time? Or was he just naturally _that_ good?

Reyes pulled up his sleeve to reveal an array of bite marks, each with varying amounts of freshness and power put into them, as he let out a slightly worried chuckle. "I have no idea why he hasn't bitten me in the past few days, honestly. Is it normal if he doesn't do that?"

"Um... right," began a bemused Connor. So that was his secret - he had _not,_ in fact, managed to get Garra to behave. That made sense, but it did raise some questions about Reyes' understanding of Pokémon training. "I think it's pretty normal for a younger Gible to bite its trainer a lot - don't quote me on that - and I believe it happens a lot with rescues, too, but this many? Have you been taming him?"

"I've been trying, that's for sure. Success? Eh... not so much. But you're saying this isn't normal?"

"Well, I mean, it might be," replied Connor, hesitant. "I really don't know enough about Garra to judge. Have you had experience with Dragon-types before?"

"Yep. You know Bagon?"

"Uh-huh."

"I've got one travelling along with me."

"...Is that one any better towards you?"

"Not really, no."

Connor seemed shocked. Another thing Dragon-types were renowned for was being quite unforgiving towards trainers who were unfortunate enough to _not_ bond with them - this was even true of those like Gible and Bagon - and yet, here stood a man who had two of them, neither of which he'd managed to decently tame, with an arm that had become a victim of several attempts to apparently eat it, as confident and upbeat as he'd seen any trainer. This begged the question of "why," but he decided against that, fearing that it might upset this new companion; there was also the possibility that, perhaps, he was missing some details. Instead, he thought his next response through carefully.

"Um... Reyes?"

"What is it, dude?"

"If you don't mind me asking, what made you pick Dragon-types?" hesitated Connor.

"Well, they _are_ the strongest type usually, aren't they? It's nothing that I, the great Reyes Vasquez, cannot handle - if becoming a great dragon master requires a baptism of fire, then I'll gladly learn to cope with the burns."

Connor was stopped in his tracks by Reyes' rather ballsy remark, almost from nothing. This attitude was an impressive one, an attitude that the young man sort of wished he shared himself. Of course, it was also quite an irresponsible one - not least in this context, considering the state of Reyes' arm - but there was definitely wisdom in those words. He nodded his head after mulling this over for a brief moment, before continuing on down the route.

Around ten minutes later, the pair arrived in Jubilife City. Admittedly, Connor hadn't really planned on stopping back so soon, but that was an inevitability considering the size of the city - outside of maybe Hearthome, it was the jewel of the Sinnoh region, and where at least four different routes led to. Reyes, however, seemed much more excited to be here, his eyes lit up as if by stars as he looked around at the towering buildings around him.

"Have you ever been here before, Connor?" enquired Reyes, captivated at the sights around him.

"Hm? Oh, yeah. I live here."

"You do? Nice! What was it like?"

"About as interesting as living in any big city would be, I guess. Nothing particularly _bad_ about it, but after a while, the novelty wears off. Jubilife TV's a pretty neat place to go, though."

"Oh, I see. Whereabouts is your home?"

"Eh, I'll show you it if we walk past it, but it's towards the southwest of the city."

"And your folks? What are they like?"

"Well, they're not _bad,_ but... I dunno, they're just my folks, I guess, if you get what I mean."

"Mmm."

"So," continued Connor as he turned around to face Reyes, "you got any plans? What brings you to Sinnoh?"

"Wellll... it's just nice to go on an adventure, isn't it, haha?" replied a sheepish Reyes.

"Cool, cool," said Connor, interested. "You got family here or something?"

"Nah. Just good to travel the world, do you get me?"

"Yeah, I get you. You got somewhere to stay?"

"I have a tent and a sleeping bag. That's all I need, I suppose. Just that, my Pokémon and the wilderness. The big, empty wilderness, haha," replied Reyes, his laugh somewhat hollow.

"Well, you can't go too wrong with your Pokémon, can you?", asked an optimistic Connor in response.

"I suppose not," shrugged Reyes. "Say, where are you headed?"

"Me? Oh, I'm just gonna train a bit in this area, I suppose. I wanna take on the Oreburgh gym in the next couple of weeks, hopefully see the Pokémon around these parts, y'know? How 'bout you?"

"I guess I will probably do the same, then."

"Really? Your Pokémon could probably take on the gym as they are now and give 'em a good fight, maybe even win," remarked Connor, tilting his head slightly.

"If you say so, but at the same time... I'd like to know more about them and get them to behave a bit better before I take on the gyms. How familiar are you with... how do you say it, Gible behaviour?"

"Well, I've read about them; I _think_ I know a bit about what they can be like. Why do you ask?"

"Would you mind if I message you on the 'dex if I have any questions?"

"Oh! Me? Really?"

"Sure! Why not, hehe?"

"Are you sure there's nobody else? I'm not really too familiar with actually looking after them hands-on, to be honest..."

"Well, you do seem to know your stuff..."

"I _do?_ " responded a slightly reddened Connor, a small, crumpled smile having grown on his face.

"Yeah! You've clearly done your reading, and I won't lie, but it's really damn neato how you are with your Aron. You wouldn't mind, would you?"

"Um... well, I mean, I wouldn't, but... _me?_ Are you absolutely _certain?_ " beamed Connor, his expression a mix of glee and disbelief.

"Yes, _you._ Are you sure you don't mind?" pointedly asked a more deadpan Reyes.

"S... sure! Do you know how you get email up on this thing?"

"Yeah, give it here," requested Reyes with a grin, to which Connor obliged. He then proceeded to fiddle with the controls for a bit, before continuing. "Yeah, it's the mail icon on the home screen," he offered, "and you can find your email address if you press the four bars on the top left. I shall just send myself an email so I know your address... and voila. Here you go!"

"Cool. Thank you!"

"No problem!" chirped Reyes. "Where are you going now?"

"Well, it's about half twelve now, so I'll probably just head down to Route 203 - that's the one to the east, 204's to the north - and do some training for a couple of hours, have a look around, get to know Ronnie a bit more," replied Connor, being met by a "ron!" from the Steel-type travelling alongside him.

"Sounds neat! I am going to go head north in the meanwhile and try bonding with my Pokémon. I'll try and email you when I can, dude; thanks for showing me around a bit!" said Reyes, heading off with a smile and a wave.

"Don't mention it! See you around, Reyes!" chirped Connor in response, before heading off on his own way, turning to Aron and smiling as he did. "See, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

Despite the fact that the two had travelled together for a brief while purely because Connor was too afraid to say "no" to this random stranger, he had to admit, he was quite fond of Reyes. He was a pretty fun dude to hang around with, and he had some interesting tidbits about Hoenn; not only that, the way he went about things intrigued him. If his Pokémon grew to trust him a bit more over time, then with a bit of training, he figured that Reyes would certainly become a force to be reckoned with in battle - and he also imagined it certainly wouldn't be boring to watch.

Connor couldn't really recall the last time a person made such a strong first impression on him. Whilst travelling alone on this adventure was still the ideal option, he reasoned that if he wanted to travel with anyone, it would probably be someone like Reyes.

* * *

After about an hour of walking, Connor found himself strolling down Route 203. His first plan of action was to avoid the beaten down path most people this way headed down - he didn't think he was ready for a fight with another trainer after such a short amount of time, not least so soon after the fight with Hawley. No, he'd need to practice away from other people, on wild Pokémon. If he remembered his map correctly, there was a large stretch of grass in between two groups of trees just north of a fence not far into the route. He headed to find this stretch of grass and find some Pokémon of a similar level to Ronnie, who was content as he chowed down on some more iron his trainer had from Jubilife.

Indeed, after another ten minutes of walking, he found this stretch of grass. "Alright, bud, you good?" asked Connor, turning to the Steel-type with a soft smile.

"Ar!" replied Aron, giving a nod with a determined look in his eyes.

"That's the spirit, little guy! Let's go!"

Connor took his first step into the tall grass with a crinkle, being as quiet as possible by practically tiptoeing so as to not to alert any nearby trainers. Indeed, the vast stretch of grass before him seemed to be empty of any other humans - given how most trainers in this area were still at the Trainer's School, which wouldn't end until about half-past three, he reckoned he'd be good for another couple of hours or so before people started coming and would try to fight him. Good enough to get some practice in, reasoned Connor.

As he made it further into the grass, he scanned the trees for Starly. There were plenty surrounding him - he'd have to try not disturb them, lest they all swarmed on him at once. Of course, in these parts, it was pretty much an inevitability that he'd end up coming into combat with one of them. After all, Starly were not renowned for being peaceful in the wild; rather, Connor recalled that they tended to hang around in large flocks, preparing to attack anyone they felt threatened the flock. Whilst he had no intentions to enter combat other than to defend himself against a flock, the prospect of combat was something Connor was perfectly fine with - Ronnie, a Steel- and Rock-type, had a double resistance to both Normal- and Flying-moves, which Starly tended to specialise in; moreover, but Bidoof, another Normal-type prevalent here, had a similar situation, as did Kricketot (albeit only a single resistance to Bug-types). Therefore, he reckoned that with about a week of having Aron training on these Pokémon, the Steel-type going up by about five or six levels was pretty likely.

More steps. Connor felt the eyes of a fair few Starly glaring right at him - he figured that the vast majority of them had the Keen Eye ability. He took care with his next moves.

There was still the matter of what him needing more Pokémon for the Oreburgh Gym, though. A Rock-type gym. A gym that most of the Pokémon on this route would have a bad time against. So he had a backup plan: the trade station in Jubilife. If he was lucky, someone would be looking for a Starly or a Shinx and offering a Fighting-type - best-case scenario. Of course, Starly and Shinx weren't exactly something most other trainers would marvel at, and something felt a bit morally off about having to go through with catching Pokémon for the sole purpose of giving them away. Hence why it was a last-ditch plan.

More steps. Connor heard some angry cooing directed at him from the trees around him. He glanced down at Ronnie next to him, trying his best to protect his trainer and letting out a soft growl, ready for battle. Adorable as Connor found the tiny pile of rocks trying to intimidate the Starly out of a fight, he knew that it wouldn't have too much of a practical use, and the Starly apparently agreed, aggressively cooing.

This was it. Connor was about to battle his first wild Pokémon. "You ready, Ronnie?" he enquired under his breath, turning to face his Aron as he gave the Steel-type an encouraging look.

"Aron!" stealthily chirped the Pokémon in response, giving a nod. Any opportunity to prove his worth to his trainer was one Ronnie was absolutely willing to take, and besides, the Steel-type figured that it would perhaps warrant a good petting or two as a reward.

Connor took another step.

"SKREEEEEEEEE!"

A Starly roared as it dove out of the tree, a heat-seeking missile as it locked onto him and prepared to fight.

Connor launched himself a step backward, as the Aron propelled itself into the air with a leap, shrugging off the impact of the Starly's dive and subsequent flurry of wing flailing as it let out a triumphant "ar-rooon!" for a battle cry.

"Nice work! Now, Ronnie, if you're familiar with the Metal Claw move, try it on the Starly!" he called out as this exchange went down.

With an affirmative nod, the Steel-type gritted its teeth as it rose one of its stumps. The limb seemed to sharpen as it glimmered a brilliant, sparkling silver, before slashing at the Starly's belly. The attack connected, prompting the Pokémon to screech.

"Excellent! Nice going, buddy!"

The Starly was displeased with this, to say the least; whilst the cut didn't draw blood, it left a nasty scratch on the Flying-type's skin and did a good job of plucking off a good chunk o its feathers at the area of impact. In response, it thrust its head back, its beak clenched shut as it prepared to go for a Wing Attack at the Aron's head.

Whilst this attack also connected with a light thudding noise, it was much less successful than the Metal Claw, achieving little outside of annoying Ronnie.

"Nice job taking the attack! Wait for Starly to attack you again, and then more of the same!" called out Connor, giving a thumbs up in encouragement. He realised that Aron was still pretty young and inexperienced to battling; as such, it probably didn't know moves that were particularly effective against Starly, nor did it serve much of a purpose to concoct a proper battle plan with Aron's limited moveset, but hey, Connor reasoned; if it worked, why complain?

Ronnie once again sharpened one of its stumps as Starly propelled its wing backward, before once again slicing at the Flying-type as it went for another Wing Attack. The Starling Pokémon did not have enough time to dodge.

This attack had a similar effect as the last Metal Claw, and it became evident that after about three rounds of combat, Ronnie was in a far better position than this Starly - another attack would finish it for certain. Out of curiosity, Connor pulled out his Pokédex to scan this particular Flying-type. This revealed that the Pokémon was level 9 and knew Tackle, Wing Attack, Fury Attack and Quick Attack with the Keen Eye ability - _alright,_ Connor thought, _so they_ _do_ _mostly have Keen Eye._ More importantly than that, though, he figured most Pokémon in this area would have a similar moveset, and of these moves, Wing Attack was probably the most effective, giving the novice the impression that the Starly he was currently against would yet again use the move. Complacency was not something Connor was particularly keen on, of course, but he figured he probably wouldn't have too many issues here.

"Alright, Ronn-" began Connor, before looking towards the action to see Starly collapsed on the ground, defeated and unconscious with Ronnie looking back at him for more orders. It occurred to him that perhaps he spent a bit too much time distracted by his own thoughts.

"...Ar?"

"...Never mind. Good job, buddy!"

He fell into a squat, gesturing Ronnie over for another head rub, much to the Steel-type's delight. "You good for more?" he asked, glancing all over Ronnie's body to check for any bruises - there were none to speak of as the Aron gave an affirmative grunt.

With that, Connor ventured further into the grass.

* * *

"Say, ya know where Jimmy's been today?" came a squeaky voice in an alley in the north of Jubilife City, around the corner from Jubilife TV.

"He was s'pposed tah be on Route 202 duty, but tah be honest witcha, I dunno why he ain't reported back tah us, yet," replied another voice, rough as a Graveler.

It was about three o'clock in the afternoon, and these two voices belonged to a duo gathered around a fire in a can awaiting the return of their third member, as they had been for the past half an hour or so. The more high-pitched voice was that of a man in his early thirties, short and hunched over with beady eyes and a nose bright pink in coloration; the rougher one belonged to a much taller, older and well-built man, built like a ton of bricks with a five o'clock shadow grown across the valleys of his chin.

"Ah, well, Jimmy can prolly handle himself. Nothin' tah worry about. 'Sides, it means more marks for da rest of us, don't it?" added the first voice again, a wry smirk on the man's face.

"Heh heh, I guess yer right. Da boss oughtta be _lit. Up._ With joy when 'e sees the haul we can get, just da two of us," chuckled the older man. "And dere's no use in restin' on our laurels, ain't dat right, Jerry?"

"Keheh... yeah, ya got that right, Paulie."

"Speakin' o' which... ya see those guys over dere?" remarked the older fellow, pointing to two figures in the distance - one in a purple outfit, the other apparently in a tuxedo of some sort. "Reckon 'ey'll make some prime dough, if ya get what I mean? Seem tah be dah rich snooty types, too; prolly won't be much of a fight tah get dah Pokémon."

"Ay, I like your thinkin', Paulie! Shall I go for da guy in a tux?" chimed the smaller fellow, ecstatic.

"Nah. I gottem. Bigger prize. Try goin' for da guy in da purple," rebuked Paulie.

"...Aight. Meetcha back here?" sighed a disappointed Jerry.

"Keh. Ya know it, kid."

With that, the two headed in separate directions.

 _Alright, Jerry, nothin' out of the ordinary for this one,_ thought the smaller man as he approached the purple suited man, following him from a distance. _Jus' another mark, one of dem haughty-taughty types. Jus' trail 'im 'til he's in a quiet area, get 'em in an alley, and get good ol' Bibby to give 'em what for! Yeah, he'll nevah see it comin'!_

A bright smile lit up Jerry's face as he continued to trail the man in the suit, following him around a corner.

 _...an' then we can sell 'em for good money on dah market! An' when I see Lindsey again… hoo boy, we're gonna be eatin' good tonight, darlin'! Just da two a' us. Gonna take you out fer a nice meal, baby, and treatcha with that money!_

He continued to follow the man in the purple suit around the streets of Jubilife, his smile fading into a frown as he focused on the man's purple suit.

 _...Somethin' seems real shitty about dat, y'know. What if the guy's 'mon really love 'im, though? Surely dat ain't right, dat I gotta take what ain't mine, break da bond dat guy might got wid' his friend, and sell it tah some other random bozo like me who prolly won't treat 'em right, prolly sell 'em to someone else for good dollar, just so I can treat my baby right? ...But dat's just da way life is on dis planet, sometimes, y'know. Gotta keep soldierin' on so I can make it on up in da world, an' hopefully do what I can tah stop people like me from livin' like dis._

His face grew into an uncertain smile as he continued down the street, waiting for the man to get to a quieter place out of the view of others.

 _Yeah, dat's da dream. An' maybe then, I can treat Lindsey tah more dinners, more nights out. No more listenin' tah Paulie, neither. I'll be able tah leave dat life behind me. 'Sides, what if dis bozo don't even treat his 'mon right, neither? What if I can get 'em to a nicer home to some nice rich old lady in Hearthome, who can give me top dollar for 'em? Then I'm not da bad guy 'ere anymore, is what! Yeah! We can do a good deed tahday, can't we, Bibby?_

It was then that Jerry noticed the tall man in the purple suit turn and head into an alley. He cleared his throat, before getting a Pokéball out from his pocket and opening it just outside the alley to reveal a Bibarel. The large beaver looked up with a toothy grin, one that Jerry had always found quite endearing.

"Awright, Bibby," began the small, hunched over man. "We got anudda' mark. Rich guy. Purple suit. Whole nine yards. Gonna take 'is Pokémon, give 'em to some nice old lady, give 'em a nicer life. Whadda ya say, chum? Wanna back me up on dis one? Do a guy a solid?" he enquired, holding out an open hand.

"Bib!" chimed Bibby, similarly quietly, nodding as he hi-fived his master he had spent the last fifteen years with, wearing the same toothy grin.

"Heheh, yeah! Dat's what I like to hear, bud! Now, let's geddus some dough!" replied an ecstatic Jerry, keeping his voice hushed so as to not alert the man in the purple suit, before returning Bibby to his ball, not particularly keen on the idea of getting his Pokémon hurt without knowing what he was up against nor wishing to alarm his prospective victim into alerting the authorities. With that, he stepped into the alleyway to face the man, the sound of his footsteps filling the air.

"May I help you?" asked the man in the purple suit, turning his head to face Jerry.

"Ay, yo!" replied the small man, giving a friendly smile before taking a few steps towards the man. "Nice weather today, wouldn't ya say?"

"Mmm," noted the man, his black trousers whooshing as he turned his entire body to the thief. "Good weather to go out for a walk, isn't it?"

"Hehe, yeah, yeah... ya doin' good?"

"Yes, things are well on my end. I'm just walking to clear my head. Taking a break from work that needs to be done."

"Heh, yea, dat's da way."

"Tell me... you are?"

"Oh, ya can call me Jerry."

"Jerry, right... tell me, Jerry, what's your line of work?" asked the man, his gaze piercing the small man.

"Me? Eheheh... well, dat's the ting, ya see. I'm actually unemployed at da moment. Ya know how it is, jobs in this economy, right? It's actually been pretty rough for me since town hall laid me off, 'n' ya seem like someone who's quite well off, if ya get what I'm sayin'? A kind fella who'd be willin' to give a helpin' hand to da little guy, ya know? What say ya'd be willin' to help a guy out?" replied Jerry, giving a pleading smile as he held his hands together in a begging motion.

"Oh, that is rather unfortunate, yes," responded the man with the purple jacket, a concerned look on his face as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a wallet. "How much do you need to help you get by?"

"Well, uh... what's ya name, mister?"

"...I'd prefer not to say."

"Oh, yeah, yeah, fair enough, no worries. Mister, ya see... I won't be needin' any of ya money. What I will be needin', is... how can I put this..."

"My Pokémon?" replied the man pointedly. He put his wallet back in his pocket with a soft sigh, before removing his suit jacket.

"Yeah, yeah! Ya understand, right? Would ya be willin' to hand 'em over, do dis da easy way?"

"That won't be happening, thief."

"...Who are ya callin' a thief, mister?" asked Jerry, his tone accusatory and hostile as he reached into his pocket, pulling out Bibby's ball.

"Well, you see, Jerry - that is your name, just so I'm sure?" began the man, taking a Pokéball stored in one of the pockets sewn onto the back of the jacket as he looked daggers at the man.

"Dat's besides da point-"

"You'll tell me your name if you place any value in your wellbeing," retorted the purple-jacketed man, his voice hard and blunt as metal, his words sharp as a knife and his response fast as a bullet as he opened the Pokéball, a flash of light materializing into a glowering pair of eyes in the darkness of the alley behind him.

"...Aight, yeah, that's me. I'm Jerry," replied

"Alright, Jerry," began the man, the bottom half of his face masking a glare sharp enough to rend steel in half, "I'm going to be completely honest with you here, I think what you're doing right now is a complete abomination; it spits in the eyes of Lady Justice. Have you no humanity? No soul? What you're doing here makes you no better than those parasites at city hall who - supposedly - fired you. Preying on anyone you deem an easy target, ruining lives of people and Pokémon for your own selfish gain and exploiting the natural good of man with your heinous bullying."

As his tirade continued, the sound of footsteps rang through the air, accompanying his rant as he slowly approached Jerry, the eyes behind him following from a distance.

"You need to be stopped at once, and I'm going to be the one to do that. However, if I were to kill you without warning, wipe you off the face of the planet like the piece of dirt you're being right now - which I assure you, I very much have the means to do so - that would make me worse than you. Which is why I'm offering you a choice. You can agree to stop your filthy actions right now, swear on your life that you won't attempt to steal innocent people's Pokémon ever again, _vow_ to do what is right in the eyes of Arceus and I can help you get out of the poverty you may be in... or you can continue this futile endeavour and see where it leads you.

The pair stood before Jerry, both looking straight into him with scowling eyes.

"Your choice?"

"I- I, uh..."

Silence permeated the air.

Jerry was caught completely off-guard by this. Just who the hell was this guy? He had some balls giving a high and mighty speech like that to him - and his delivery, too; his voice, deceptively husky for a man so thinly built, was unwavering and commanding, each word hitting like a battering ram. Had the guy made all that up as he went along? He'd have told the guy to piss off if he could have, but there was just something about him, the silent fury in his eyes, the mask of calm on his face, his words like knives, that utterly terrified him. And those eyes behind him, too - an order of magnitude or two above anything else he'd ever seen (perhaps barring the man before him). Those brilliant purple irises were a light in the black of the shadows of the alley as the black look emanating from them tore into the windows of his very soul. Those eyes were the only thing he could see of the beast, and they were all it took to send shivers coursing down his spine. He quaked in his boots, his kneecaps violently moving to and fro, as he tried to think of anything except those eyes. Was this even a Pokémon? Was it even of this planet? Was it some sort of demon? Jerry had liked to think of himself as a pretty fearless guy, but this... he had no doubt whatever this was could have killed him.

He decided against summoning Bibby, for fear of his life and the Bibarel's, as he instead produced a nervous smile. This offer didn't seem too bad compared with the threat of losing his life - at least this way, he had a way out of Paulie's gang. He gulped before speaking.

"S... sure, guy... no problems here... just sign me up, y'know, eheheh...?"

The intense look in the man's eyes faded somewhat, as the corners of his mouth folded into an ever so slight smile. "A wise choice. Now, follow me."

"Y... yeah... ya got it, boss..."

* * *

 **Pokémon Stats - Gible (nickname: Garra)**

 **\- Trainer: Reyes Vasquez**

 **\- Male**

 **\- Type: Dragon/Ground**

 **\- Ability: Rough Skin**

 **\- Level: 15**

 **HP: D (58)**

 **Attack: C (70)**

 **Defence: D (45)**

 **Special Attack: E (40)**

 **Special Defence: D (45)**

 **Speed: D (42)**

 _ **"Gible is a Pokémon renowned for being a ravenous eater - when hungry, it will attempt to eat almost anything it sees and smells okay. It is strongly recommended that anyone who wishes to own a Gible has a lot of experience with**_ _ **Pokémon husbandry, as is the case with any Dragon-type (although Gible is a particularly prominent example of this). If well-fed and looked after properly by a trainer it has bonded with, it is often given the moniker of a velcro**_ _ **Pokémon - it sticks to its trainer and will rarely leave them alone when outside of its ball, which should be often."**_


	5. They Call Me the Seeker (2)

**_16:23 - October 9th, 2007_**

Earlier in the day, Connor had the idea of raising his Pokémon's level by six in a week. He'd decided this could be achieved by employing multiple hour-long sessions of intense 'grinding,' as he called it, against wild Pokémon after wild Pokémon, broken up by fifteen minute long breaks for resting and healing.

Connor and his Aron had just finished the third of these sessions - of four planned - and the novice trainer felt it had been productive, with the pair having defeated (if Connor was counting correctly) eight Starly, five Bidoof, three Kricketot and two Shinx, of which he had just defeated one of the latter. This was good enough to raise the Aron's level by one, and put him about a sixth of the way to level twelve. He felt now would be a good time to check on his Pokémon, and so with a warm smile, he looked down at his Pokémon and asked, "Ronnie, buddy, you alright?"

Ronnie was, in fact, not alright.

Instead, Connor found himself standing over an exhausted Ronnie drawing heavy laboured breaths as he strained to look up at Connor. He'd previously thought his unfortunate encounter with Hawley and Croagunk to be the most painful thing he'd experience all day. Of course, he didn't consider it as humiliating - far from it actually, as the Aron was quite ecstatic over the day's results; defeating eighteen Pokémon in such a short space of time, regardless of the fact they were a level or two below him at best, was a feat the Steel-type was very pleased with. Unlike the Croagunk incident, though, there wasn't really much he could to show his gratitude. Or much he could do in general at that minute. Probably not for the next day or so, either.

Ronnie strained to look up at Connor, giving a drained nod with a flicker of pride present in his eyes before he collapsed to the ground, barely conscious.

 _Oh crap._

A look of panic began to set in on Connor's face as he quickly dropped to his knees to check if the Pokémon was badly hurt. Connor's eyes darted to and fro across Ronnie's body. He didn't find any wounds.

So he checked again.

He didn't find anything.

So he checked again.

Still nothing.

Connor concluded he wasn't looking hard enough. He could feel his heart begin to pound away as dread began to set in. This was his fault. His hand shot onto the front of his belt. He'd gotten Ronnie unable to fight twice in a day. He opened the Pokéball. The Aron disappeared in a stream of light. It'd be a miracle if Ronnie didn't hate his guts by now. He realised his breathing had swiftly developed into heavy panting, his mouth biting away at his nails to calm himself down.

 _Calm yourself, Connor!_ demanded his inner monologue. _Take a deep breath in and out._

He opened his mouth to let in a big gulp of air, letting it out again before taking slower breaths through his nose to slow down his thumping heartbeat.

As he came back to his senses, he realised that perhaps this wasn't as bad as he was making it out to be. Perhaps Ronnie hadn't picked up a nasty wound - if Connor couldn't see one after checking three times, he reasoned, there was likely nothing there - and perhaps he just needed a rest after all that training. He'd just been pushed a bit too hard, was all; it was an error on Connor's part, for sure, but Pokémon training was a learning curve, and mistakes like this were inevitable. For now, though, he needed to devise a plan of action - this was exactly what he did as he walked back to Jubilife.

First of all, he'd head over to Jubilife's Pokémon Center and check with a nurse whether he needed medical attention or a bit of rest. If it was the former, he'd leave Ronnie in the nurse's care; if the latter he'd take Ronnie with him, call it a day and set up camp outside town.

After that, he'd have to re-evaluate his training plan. Truth be told, he had no idea what in Arceus' name he was thinking when he came up with it - eighteen or more Pokémon per day five days a week was utter insanity, unsustainable if he had more than one Pokémon, and Connor had to admit, he'd gotten extremely lucky with the type advantage Ronnie had over this route's Pokémon - if he'd tried this in a route with, say, Ground-types, he'd have a very injured Aron on his hands; after all, three or four decent Ground-type moves would probably do as much damage as many Normal-type moves.

Thirdly, he'd need to set back his plans to take on Oreburgh's gym by a few weeks - taking on the gym after a month, six weeks at the latest, seemed a lot more feasible. The idea of taking on a gym two weeks into his journey was, in hindsight, not a good one, and whilst breezing through the gyms in a couple of months was a very enjoyable fantasy, that was all it was - a fantasy.

If there was one thing Connor took away from this, it was that pacing himself was necessary. Opelucid, as they always said, wasn't built in a day, and as a sixteen-year-old out of school, Connor was hardly strapped for time. Completing the gym challenge in a year or so was hardly something to be ashamed of.

…Just as long as it took Hawley a _little_ longer.

Before Connor had any more chance to reflect on the events of the training, however, he felt his Pokédex vibrate in his pocket. There were two possibilities here, thought Connor; Reyes had something cool to show him, or spam mail. He hoped it was the former. Pulling out the device to check, Connor realised he was at least half correct - the email was, indeed, from his Hoennian acquaintance.

 _Come rapidly! Urgent!_ read the message's heading.

Connor figured there was a fifty-fifty chance of Reyes having encountered an actual emergency, or him having something really cool to show him. Intrigued, he opened it and read on.

 _Not much time to explain, meet two streets west of Jubilife TV quick. Met someone who had Pokémon stolen. Could be like guy we saw earlier. Need help to look for it possibly calm down if found. Get here as soon as you read this!_

Connor sighed, a tad disappointed with this. An actual emergency it was, then - and so soon after he'd completely knackered Ronnie, too? He appreciated that being a trainer was certainly not dull so far, but if every day had been like his first, he'd be dead from stress by the end of the year.

Nevertheless, if a Pokémon was in danger, what sort of trainer - what sort of _person_ \- would he be if he didn't help?

He adjusted his belt to ensure his Pokéball was strapped on and fiddled around with his backpack's straps until he was sure it was firmly on. As soon as that was done, he rushed back off to Jubilife to investigate.

* * *

"Young man, are you one hundred percent sure you want to do this?" asked the middle-aged gentleman, sat across a table from Reyes and Garra, his Gible, in Jubilife's Pokémon Center. He had a look of worry in his eyes, one of uncertainty and doubt. "I do appreciate the offer, trust me, but I'm not sure if I need you or your little partner there getting hurt by a criminal on my conscience. Besides, I really don't think this is something the authorities can't handle."

"You must be new to these parts, then, eh?" chimed the young nurse on-duty without looking up from grooming her Chansey.

"And why do you say that?"

"No disrespect to the blokes, but the plod in Jubilife couldn't find their way out of an open window, let alone a stolen Pokémon. If this mug thinks he can handle himself, then let him have a fair go. If he gets himself hurt, boohoo; if he doesn't, good on 'im!"

Reyes flashed up in a grin in response to this, as he stood up in triumph, his chest puffed out and his fists on his hips. "I can assure you, that won't be happening. If you think I, the great Reyes Vasquez, am gonna let some crook break into this man's house and eat his groceries, you are sorely mistaken!" he declared in conceit, getting him strange looks from everyone in the moderately busy Center barring the gentleman and the nurse, who strained with all her might to stifle a laugh. Even Garra tilted his head, confused.

"Groceries…?" mumbled the gentleman, visibly perplexed.

"I know what it's like to have someone try and take from me, sir; just this morning, someone tried to steal my boy from me. I don't know if your law authorities can allow this to fly or how it works over here, but back home, I can assure you; we do not take such hi-nanigans lightly!" continued the Hoennian, apparently completely unaware of the sea bemusement surrounding him.

"Hi-nanigans? What is that, a mix of hijinks and shenanigans?" humoured the nurse, now engrossed in this conversation.

"Irrelevant!" shot back Reyes in reply. "Lemme just say, that guy was mad like a Gogoat if he thought he could take from me, and he was lucky to get away with a broken leg, wasn't he, buddy?"

This was met with a proud squeal from the round Dragon-type, astonishment from almost everyone else and a wry chuckle from the nurse. "Well, aren't ya just a right mental fella?" she muttered under her breath as she turned back around and went back to brushing her Chansey's hair.

"Broken - look, just… at the very least - please sit down - do you happen to know when this friend of yours is coming?" enquired the concerned gentleman opposite Reyes.

"Hm," said Reyes, reluctantly obliging to the man's request to be seated, "well, I think he got my email, but there's no response yet… but fear not! He should be here, right about… now!"

Despite his animated gesturing of his arm at the door, nothing.

"Now!"

Nothing.

"...Now?"

Nothing.

"Hmph."

"If he isn't coming, then shall we-"

It was at this moment that the doors whirred open to reveal an out of breath Connor.

"Ach, dammit," groaned an embarrassed Reyes under his breath.

The Sinnohan took deep breaths in and out as he approached the nurse's desk with his head sunken.

"G'day, welcome to Jubilife Pokémon Center! What can I help ya with today, fella?" asked the nurse, a welcoming smile spread from cheek to cheek, supported in this expression by curious sapphire eyes,

"H… hello… uh… I… can you… how do I… Pokémon… overdid training, uh…" began Connor in response, too flustered to make eye contact with the nurse and both too embarrassed and out of breath to formulate a coherent sentence.

"...Did you train your Pokémon a bit too hard?"

"...Yes…"

"Do you want me to heal 'em?"

"...Yes."

"Then why didn't ya just say so, you dingus?" chuckled the nurse, taking the Pokéball that Connor handed to her and giving it to Chansey. "I'm assuming you're new to this?"

"...Uh… doing this for... nine and a half hours, yeah."

"What did ya do for your training?"

"Went out to… uh… Route 203, y'know, and just… went grinding a bunch of Pokémon for a couple hours."

"How big is a bunch?"

"Um…"

"Six?"

"Well…"

"Eight?"

Connor fell silent.

"Ten?"

No reply.

" _Higher_ than ten?" asked an incredulous nurse.

"...Eighteen," mumbled Connor, red as a rose as he looked up at the ceiling.

"Eigh- geez, that's fuckin' mental, you absolute ripper. Nice one!" offered an impressed nurse. "But… no offence here, what were ya thinkin', mate? I hate to go so hard on somebody who's just a beginner, but you _do_ know that you're outta your damn mind if you think either you or your… what Pokém-"

"Aron," interjected an increasingly flustered Connor.

"Aron, can keep that up, right?"

"Y-yeah, I'm sorry, I just don't- I just thought that, uh, it'd be good to toughen him up? It won't happen again, I swear-"

"Woah, woah, don't sweat it, mate!" chuckled the nurse. She reckoned Connor was about a year younger than her herself, and still didn't know much about actually adventuring in real life instead of just on paper. "It's good you're making these mistakes so early; that way, ya just know not to make 'em again, don't cha? Training's quite the learning curve, and everyone does dumb shit when they're starting off. It's just when people do dumb shit when they really should know better that boils my piss - and if I can stop dumb shit from happening, then I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't, y'know? Just make sure you do a bit better next time, mmkay?"

"Right, yeah, yeah, my bad, my bad," replied Connor, still avoiding the gaze of the nurse as Chansey returned, nudging the nurse to go to the back of the clinic with her. The two returned about two or three minutes later, with the Pokéball in her hand, much to Connor's relief.

"Yeah, ya weren't bluffin', were ya? Little guy's conked out right now; he's probably gonna be out of commission for the next two or three days as he recovers," began the nurse before she reached into a drawer and pulled out some tablets. "He might have a bit of muscle pain as he recovers, so give 'im these to ease it off. Arnica - two pills every two hours for 12 hours, then four times a day afterward for about a week until he gets better. Sound good?"

"Ah, thanks… should I pay for that?"

"Nah, don't stress it, mate."

"Really?"

"Aye. No worries," replied the nurse with a smile.

"Thanks!" replied a delighted Connor, turning around to head back out before remembering the other reason he'd gone to the Center and swiftly returning to the desk. "Oh, by the way, there wouldn't, ah… wouldn't happen to be anyone called Reyes here, would there?"

"Rey-" began the nurse, before lightly biting her bottom lip to think for a moment, a half dumbfounded, half accepting look sprouted across her face. This kid, who had only an Aron who was absolutely out-of-it and the ability to barely hold a conversation with a nurse to his name, was apparently about to help go and take down a supposedly dangerous criminal alongside a guy who was a _tad_ too proud of breaking someone's leg. As much as she was intrigued to see what happens, it was her duty as a nurse to, as she had so eloquently and repeatedly described it earlier, "stop dumb shit from happening."

"Oi, bogan," the nurse called out to Reyes as she waved him over, "c'mere."

The Hoennian obliged, standing up and approaching the nurse and Connor, the latter of whom he turned to with a slightly chagrined look upon arriving at the desk. "Thank you for coming, but… could you not have come just a _few_ seconds earlier, friendo?"

"Oh, did you need me for something? Sorry, I was-" began Connor in response, before he was interjected by the nurse.

"Bloody oath, mate, it's probably better you didn't come earlier; no worries about it. 'Sides, more important matters at hand; Reyes, was it? I'm gonna be dead serious with you 'ere, taking this little fella out to hunt a hardened criminal… it's not really the best idea. His Aron's stuffed, the poor guy; gonna need to rest for the next day or so. Also - no offence… what's your name?"

"Connor."

"Connor, right - no offence, but the little bugger's not exactly a Masked Ranger, is he? He's, what, five foot five and has one Pokémon on 'im; not really the type to kick arse and take names, if you don't mind me saying. I'm gonna make a recommendation; if you're adamant on taking him along with you to go after a criminal, props to ya, but you'll only get him hurt for now. Perhaps give it a couple of days, maybe?"

Reyes was unmoved in response, instead giving a "hmph" before giving the nurse a determined look in the eye. "You may have a point when you say his Aron needs a rest, but I don't plan on letting someone helping out a Pokémon of their own free will get hurt. Besides, give Connor some credit; he may be small, but I can assure you, size does not matter when every inch of one's body is filled with justice!"

"...Sure," flatly replied the nurse, giving Reyes an unimpressed look. "Several questions, but I'm just gonna hit you with two for now; one, do you seriously think you can take on a thief in a battle by yourself, and two, why are you even taking him along?"

"Then I shall give you two answers, nurse: first of all, I'm not taking on a thief in battle by myself, am I? I'll be taking them on with a Gible, a Bagon, and my friend by my side, as a matter of fact. And secondly, he's going to be plenty of help with calming down Pokémon this man has stolen; after all, you haven't seen him handling Pokémon, have you? It sure is something to behold. Now, Connor, you don't mind this if we let your friend stay out of the firing line, do you?"

"...Not really? Oh, uh, his name's Ronnie, though," offered Connor in response.

"Of course, yes, Ronnie. Well, nurse?" beamed a confident Reyes.

"You really are a bit of a dag, ain'tcha?" replied the nurse, prompting the two trainers to give her an unsure look. "If you have two Pokémon that can handle themselves, and this bloke's not gonna get involved in the scuffle, then… fuck, like I said, you'll be better off goin' after them than the boys in blue. The fella over there who got robbed, though; he didn't happen to say what the guy looked like, did he?"

"Big, round, grimy black… tuxedo, is it? Black hat. Called Paulie, I think."

"You know, a buncha people have come in here sayin' they've been robbed by blokes with similar descriptions over the past month or so, only with different names - a bit troubling because that's how _everyone_ in these parts seems to dress, but hey ho. They tend to happen in alleys around the north side of Jubilife, usually not particularly far from the TV station. If you wanna give anywhere a look, I'd reckon you couldn't go much wrong there."

"Wait, if the police have names, descriptions and know where the robberies are… why haven't they arrested them yet?" wondered a curious Connor, out loud but keeping his voice quiet to not cause a scene.

"Like I keep sayin', they're just not good at their jobs," sighed the nurse, flatly. "You from 'round these parts?"

"Yeah, I graduated from the trainer school around here not too long ago," replied Connor.

"Really? Same 'ere, but I don't think I've seen you around. Graduated in July, right?"

"Aye."

"And your name's Connor… yeah, I honestly don't recall seeing you, particularly. You flunk all the time or something?"

"No, I just… I guess there's not much remarkable about me, honestly."

"...Huh. Well, anyway, the name's Florence. Florence Martin."

Reyes loudly cleared his throat, prompting the two to turn around. As they did so, Florence's eyes scoured his outfit up and down - his brilliant blue longcoat, intricately stitched with gold buttons and deep pockets; his red headband seemed to have a great deal of care put into it, too, as well as his long and glimmering hair. It seemed that a great deal of care had been put into his appearance - which meant that, more importantly, a great deal of _money_ had been put into his appearance. Slowly, a mischievous grin unfurled across her face.

"You _know,_ the fellas who tend to get robbed often look the rich type," Florence offered, giving a not-so-subtle wink to the two. Connor turned around, looking Reyes up and down before seeming to have a lightbulb moment. This prompted Connor to look Reyes up and down, thinking for a moment before seeming to have a lightbulb moment, much to the oblivious Hoennian's confusion.

"...Why are you looking at me, guys?" asked a confused Reyes.

Not long after getting a bite to eat from the Center's convenience store, the pair - with Garra firmly tucked into Reyes' arms - were in the middle of aimlessly walking around the northwestern area of Jubilife, with Reyes visibly displeased at this development. "You know," he lamented with a disgruntled frown, looking down at his Sinnohan companion, "I don't think it's fair that I get picked to be the bait for a group of criminals _just_ because I want to wear cool clothes. Surely we could have just done some sniffing around for clues and then burst into their headquarters and kicked all of their asses, no?"

"I mean… maybe, but wouldn't that get us both hurt?" replied Connor.

"I'll have you know I'm already _plenty_ hurt you think my sweet clothes mean you can use me as thief bait, kick all of their asses, no

"I mean, as fun as that sounds, it's not really the safest idea, is it?" countered Connor with a smile of jovial mockery. "I'm sorry I can't be of more help, but after everything that's happened to us today, I really don't think me or Ronnie are in the best shape to do any form of fighting, let alone the ass-kicking type."

"Oh, don't get me wrong, that _is_ fair, but I decide that I would like to wear some cool - nay, the _coolest_ \- clothes and suddenly I'm thief bait? There are few things a man should value above justice, but keeping my fabulous fashion intact is one of them."

"Fabulous fashion...?" asked a quizzical Connor, prompting Reyes to stop in his tracks and shoot him a rather hurt look.

"My friend, are you insinuating that I don't look _absolutely_ fantastic right now?" fired back the offended Hoennian, tightening his bandana for emphasis.

"Woah, woah, now, I didn't say _that_ , Reyes; I'm just saying, that's just… not really what I expected you to say, you know. I'm sorry it came off like that."

"It's fine, but what _did_ you expect me to say?"

"Just not that, I suppose."

* * *

 _Ah, shit._

Paulie's large figure leaned against a wall, nails digging into brick in impatience.

 _Now Jerry's gone, too. Boss is gonna flip his lid when he finds out._

The robber had spent the last thirty minutes or so waiting in the alley for the return of his colleague - after Jimmy had seemed to vanish from the face of the planet earlier, he was hoping for Jerry to come back with news of a successful robbery. This hadn't happened, and instead he found himself alone and a Pokémon short of his target of five, which was what his higher-ups demanded for the day - much more than that and he risked getting careless, the chance of rushing and making a rookie error growing and growing. It was nearing six o'clock, and he was due to report back to the boss half an hour after that. Was half an hour enough time to scout out a good target, sweeten them up, lure them into a secluded area, get their Pokémon and head back to base?

Pah. _Amateurs_ needed half an hour. A pro like him could do it in twenty minutes, no problem.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a figure in brilliant blue walk by him, with a Pokémon he'd never seen before in hand.

 _Make that fifteen._

* * *

The conversation had ground to a halt, much to Garra's displeasure. The Gible, who was relishing the attention he got in the form of strange and intrigued looks from passers-by and Jubilife locals who had never seen such a Pokémon in person, quickly grew bored of the silence, and let his displeasure be known in the form of a high-pitched "Gib!"

"Say, Reyes," began Connor as his taller companion began rubbing his Pokémon's belly after rolling up his sleeves, "do you have Gible in Hoenn?"

"Oh, no," answered Reyes confidently. "Garra here, he's the first one I ever met."

The Gible's trainer was a tad distracted from this conversation, looking around the crowd around him. He was keeping an eye on if anybody seemed to be following the pair that matched the description of the thief from earlier. This proved difficult, however, when he was holding such a rare Pokémon in his arms. Reyes figured that it would be challenging to deduce if anybody was looking at him and following him with intent to steal Garra instead of merely looking in awe at the Pokémon. This was a conundrum, however; the Dragon-type hated his ball, and putting him back in there to make looking for any thieves easier would probably lead to him getting a couple of nasty bites on his legs or arms.

* * *

Paulie kept a close eye on his chosen victim, his head a periscope as it peered from the rest of the busy crowd, managing to keep a focus on his prey and following his every move. Judging by his outfit, it wasn't a stretch for the burglar to assume that his mark fancied himself to be a tough guy; in addition, if he was walking with his Pokémon out in the open for all to see, he was either brave or an idiot - Paulie hazarded a guess that it was the former.

The robber figured that it would probably be a struggle to get this guy down into an alley and expected that he'd have to fight for the Pokémon. No worries - after all, nobody crossed Paulie and got away with it. But his other point was still a worry: how _would_ he get the guy into a position where he could make off with his Pokémon? Well, for one, he'd have to wait for the dense crowd to die down before he made his move. Even then, using force wasn't an option when the guy had his Pokémon out in the open and ready for a fight. He'd have to either butter him up with words - perhaps by feigning injury or pretending to need help - or trick him into following him. Not quite sure how to accomplish the latter, he decided to use persuasion. But that'd require getting through the crowd and ahead of his mark without him noticing.

As he cut to the side of the crowd and sped up walking pace, though, he noticed that his subject was walking alongside a second, much smaller person. A person who had a Pokéball on his belt, but nothing out to help him. This gave him a third idea - what if he turned his attention to this guy instead? Yes, that'd work out _excellently_ \- if he managed to get his Pokémon out first and lure him into a quiet place, away from onlookers, he had two routes to go down: he could use him as a hostage to get both of the trainers' Pokémon, or he could go the safer route and just steal the smaller fellow's Pokémon. Judging by the density of the crowd, he even reasoned that he could have simply cut into the crowd, grabbed the smaller trainer's Pokéball and made a run with it; however, this ran the risk of alerting the other trainer - and indeed, others in the crowd - and getting himself hurt as a result. Instead, he decided to play it as safe as he could.

With a smirk, he continued to pace ahead of the two, focusing his attention on the road ahead.

* * *

"...You had much experience around Dragon-types?" enquired the Sinnohan.

"Yeah, some back in Hoenn; dad had a Flygon."

The Hoennian weighed up his options. The way he saw it, putting Garra back in his ball, whilst it'd get fewer people to look at him solely for his Pokémon and weed out anyone who would try and steal from him because of his outfit (if they were stupid enough to try it, anyway), it probably wasn't worth the risk of the Pokémon getting cross at him over. After all, if the thieves before had targeted people based on how rich they seemed rather than just their outfit, then having Gible out made him a more prominent target.

"He had one? Aw, why the past tense?"

"Hm? Oh, no no no, he still has the old guy," replied Reyes, not wanting to seem distant whilst keeping an eye out. "He may be getting on in age, but oh man, can he fight! Arceus himself wouldn't be able to take the old boy to the afterlife, I don't think."

There were a few people Reyes spotted that he didn't quite trust, but none of them seemed to fit the description put forward to them by the man in the Center. Nevertheless, Reyes' utmost priority was remaining vigilant, and whenever he had chance he made sure to scan the crowd to look for anyone who seemed particularly suspicious. This proved difficult when he realised, however, that the thief's outfit wasn't particularly rare in this part of town - rather, it seemed to be the clothing of every generic businessman in this neck of the woods.

"He seems like a pretty good boy," remarked Connor. "Flygon are cool, man. I'd trust that old fella with my life - going off what you've just described, anyway."

"Oh, I feel _absolutely_ the same," chuckled Reyes, darting his attention to his newfound smaller friend with a smile before continuing to look around. Nothing specifically shady from any of the grimy suit wearers in the crowd - one of them did seem to be in more of a rush than most, but was there anything so suspicious about a businessman being very eager to get home? Reyes figured that there wasn't.

* * *

 _Dammit!_ _Why couldn't we get tasked with looking for an idiot?!_

From the corner of his eyes, Paulie glanced back at the pair. They didn't seem to notice him - this was excellent news to the thief, who, if his memory was serving him correctly, was nearing one of his favourite hold-up spots. At the rate the pair was walking, he could have the smaller one in there in two minutes, get the Pokémon, and then make his way over a fence and rush back to the boss. All of the signs were good - everything was coming up Paulie, and he loved it!

Stifling a grin so as to not look odd, he took one last look at the pair before his pace increased even further, stopping just short of turning his fast walk into a full-blown jog. Once he felt he was out of the pair's sight, he placed a hand in his pocket, gripping onto one of the Pokéballs in there and waited until he was closer to the alley. Being prepared for the robbery minutes in advance was absolutely vital to ensure that everything ran smoothly, after all - time was ticking away, and he absolutely didn't have much of it left before the boss got pissed.

Reyes noticed that the businessman who had been walking particularly quickly had sped up even further and disappeared from his view. This was enough to arouse concern - what could he possibly have going on at home that required walking so fast? It wasn't his position to speculate about people's private lives, but something was off. He sped up in response, hoping to catch up to the potential burglar - much to the delight of Garra, waving his arms and letting out an excited squeal as his trainer practically burst through the crowd, earning himself a few angry remarks from people he barged past.

"Reyes?" asked Connor, struggling to keep up as he began to run as fast as his legs could carry him whilst slaloming through passers-by, apologising to anyone he came into contact with.

"Hm? Oh, sorry," replied Reyes, a bashful smile on his face as he slowed down just a little bit. "I think I might have our guy, but he's made a run for it - wanna come with?"

"Of course I am," panted the Sinnohan as he reached Reyes' side, "but could you warn me next time you run off, please?"

"Right, my apologies."

With that, the two continued onwards, moving at a pace that was just brisk enough to satisfy the Hoennian.

* * *

Paulie stepped out of the light of the sunset and into the shadows of the alley, two buildings of numerous stories covering him in the shroud of darkness. Just how he wanted it - those poor bastards would never know what hit 'em. Unfortunately, there wasn't time to reflect on the alley like some sort of gothic author; rather, he had to prepare himself to pounce on his prey. His hand shot out of his pocket, opening the Pokéball firmly gripped by it to reveal a purple and white furred creature, it's puffy tail sticking up and disgusting stench wrapping around it.

"Alright, Stunky," began the burglar, squatting down so his devious gaze met the Poison-type's beady stare, "ya know the drill. Make like ya've been attacked or summin', and when I stomp my foot, do ya best hurt noise. That'll draw 'em in, and I'm gonna get behind 'em so dat they ain't leavin' - when I snap my fingers, you hit 'em widda Poison Gas, and I'll take it from dere. Ya got it?"

"Stunk!" chirped the Poison-type in reply, nodding its head vigorously.

"Excellent. Good boy. We're gonna be on some good dough tonight, ya know - and I couldn't do itwiddout ya," offered the burglar, rubbing the back of the Pokémon with his knuckles and being met with the sound of delighted lips smacking together under the Poison-type's massive cheeks. "Now get in position."

* * *

With that, the Poison-type slumped over the floor, closing its eyes until they were barely open and slowing down its breathing until it sounded hoarse and strained, as Paulie pulled out some crimson food dye and poured it over the Pokémon before turning to watch the crowd, waiting for the pair to walk past.

Connor and Reyes' search had proven fruitless. Despite the pair's rushing, the man Reyes had spotted was completely out of sight, and Connor was starting to fall behind his new friend, having much shorter less and being caught off guard by the Hoennian's agility. Doubling over to catch his breath, his attention was caught by a pained screech from very close by. Anxious, he darted his head to the side to see a man looking down at what appeared to be an injured Stunky, squatting over the Pokémon and repeatedly calling its name. The man seemed to fit the description of the thief, but considering the sea of similarly-dressed businessmen, wasn't convinced that he'd found his target. He weighed up his options, taking a few steps closer to get out of the way of the crowd - he couldn't just ask the man if he was a thief, not least when he was so clearly distressed.

But at the same time, he couldn't be sure if it was merely a ruse, and if the man was just faking it. If he asked the guy if he was a thief, and it turned out he was, then Connor reckoned he'd probably get all shocked that he'd been foiled - or something along those lines, anyway.

But there was _also_ the risk of asking an innocent, distressed guy in dire need of help for his Stunky if he was a thief, and getting him even more upset. Connor just couldn't be sure, and decided it wasn't worth the risk. He came to this conclusion just as the man noticed him, looking up and meeting the trainer's stare with a pleading look.

"You! Kid! You know anything about Stunky? You gotta help him, man - I found him like this, all injured and whatnot - and I ain't no nurse, but I think he'll die if we don't help him out!" called out the man, waving him forward.

A horrified Connor obliged to this request, rushing forward to get a closer view of the injured poison-type - Reyes was out of view at this point, and he figured that the Hoennian would understand why he didn't catch up if he explained that he had to help out a hurt Pokémon.

 _Ya fuckin' dummy,_ thought Paulie to himself, hiding a wry smile of triumph and pouring all of his efforts into keeping up his facade.

"Is he okay?!" blurted out Connor before swiftly realising that Stunky was quite obviously not okay and rushing to correct himself. "Uh - I mean, uh, what can I do to help?!"

Paulie rose to his feet, standing about nine inches taller than Connor and looking roughly twenty years his senior as he took a step out of the way, taking two steps backward. "I dunno where his wound is, but I dunno if he'll spray if I touch him or what, and I dunno how to calm him down - I've called the Pokémon Center and I think they're gonna be on their way soon, but like, I think we gotta stop the bleedin' until they get here, y'know?" he continued, his voice quite obviously nervous.

"Right, uh, I get what you mean, yeah," replied Connor. This was a valid point, he thought - avoiding being sprayed was certainly a wise move, as was keeping it calm until help arrived. Still, judging by the breaths the Pokémon was taking, he figured that if he just moved slowly, cautiously and made his intentions known, he'd be fine. Gingerly, he took a few steps closer to the Poison-type, looking down at him - his movements were strained and breathing was difficult; indeed, it seemed as though he was clearly hurt.

Paulie, meanwhile, relaxed his face as he stood what he reckoned was a good distance back from Connor, blocking the alley off to prevent him from leaving.

"Hey," softly called out Connor, causing the Poison-type to raise its head just enough to look up at him. "Are you okay, buddy?"

Interestingly enough, he didn't seem to be in the mood to attack or spray, which was odd - wild Stunky were renowned for being quite difficult to approach due to their potent spray and rather feisty nature. Judging by how it didn't seem to be interested in attacking the other man in the alley, either, the Pokémon had to be used to people - was it a trainer's? Had he been stolen?

What was more, upon closer inspection, the Pokémon quite clearly wasn't bleeding - rather, that was just food dye. It soon came to his attention that the other man wasn't standing near him anymore. Confused, he turned around to look at Paulie. "He's not bleeding, but... uh, I think he belongs to a trainer? I don't know how you'd go about finding them, though," he called out.

"Won't be necessary. I'm its trainer - you can call me Glenn," called out Paulie, calling out the first fake name that came to mind.

"He is...? Oh, I'm Connor, by the way," responded Connor, hesitant.

"No, you ain't. You'll be handing over your Pokémon if you value your health."

Connor froze like a Deerling in headlights. People trying to steal his Pokémon twice on his first day? Where was Reyes? He was surely nearby, right? This wasn't good, this wasn't good - why was all this happening to him in such quick succession?! What had he done to deserve this? This wasn't good, this wasn't good, this wasn't good - he needed to think of a way out, and fast!

"Meowth got your tongue, eh? Can't be doin' with none of that. Stunky!" called out Paulie, snapping his fingers.

"Ky!"

Before Connor knew it, he was overwhelmed by a noxious gas, as he fell to the floor, retching and clutching his stomach, his innards burning with each cough and his vision obscured by an impenetrable veil of tears.

As he looked up, he saw the figure of the man he knew as Glenn approach him through the purple haze. Was this it? Was he losing Ronnie after one day? Things had been a rollercoaster, sure, but was the ride ending so soon? Connor raised a hand to stop him as he approached, each footstep growing nearer and nearer as the hiss of the Stunky beside him rang in his ears.

"You there!" came a voice from the end of the alley, piercing the troubled thoughts whirring around Connor's head as if it were a light in the black.

Connor didn't recognise this voice, but the only thing he could do was bank his hopes that they were there to rescue him.

 **Pokémon Stats - Stunky**

* * *

 **\- Trainer: Paulie Vulcano**

 **\- Male**

 **\- Type: Poison/Dark**

 **\- Ability: Stench**

 **\- Level: 16**

 **HP: C (63)**

 **Attack: C (63)**

 **Defence: D (47)**

 **Special Attack: D (41)**

 **Special Defence: D (41)**

 **Speed: C (74)**

 ** _"If there's one thing Stunky is associated with, it's smell - be it through their signature attack of launching a foul-smelling liquid from glands on their rear, or the Poison Gas move they learn at lower levels, an attack which can have a nasty effect on a human's respiratory system if they are exposed for too long, their arsenal of odors is large and should not be underestimated when dealing with one. Befriending them and using them as a battling_** ** _Pokémon is difficult as they have a pretty feisty temper and get spooked enough to spray easily, but their prowess in combat is noteworthy for the reasons noted above, and dedicated Stunky trainers across Sinnoh will tell you that they make very loyal and loving friends."_**


	6. They Call Me the Seeker (3)

_**17:47 - October 9th, 2007**  
_

As Stunky's gas permeated through the air, Connor's jaw clenched itself shut as he pinched his nostrils, the bitten skin around his right thumb- and index fingernails going red under the Herculean strain they seemed to be under. The unrelenting assault on his senses had been going on for about half a minute by this point, and all the might his five-foot-five body could muster went into fighting off the urge to thrash in convulsions, to retch up his guts; despite the valiant efforts of his firmly closed eyelids, it felt as though acid was welling up in front of his eyes.

As soon as he realised what was going on, he buried his head in the left arm of his jacket - he'd be _damned_ if he let a single tear stream down his face because of some second-rate thief. While water streamed out of his eyes and formed puddles of shame on his jacket, his body began to quake whilst his throat burnt away in fierce hellfire, more intense than a Charizard could even dream of.

Yet despite all this, the trainer held out hope.

For whilst four of his primary senses were under the most vicious attack, Connor's hearing had yet to fail him, and he could make out what was, quite undeniably, the sound of another voice from the end of the valley - specifically, the sound of another voice crying out the phrase "You there!"

Connor wasn't sure whether this was directed at him or the man he knew as "Glenn," to whom he attributed the feeling of somebody standing uncomfortably close to him, quite probably about to try and take Ronnie from him. This was besides the point, however; the welcome sound of nearing footsteps from the direction of the call punctuated the uneasy silence of the alley.

Whilst Connor was unable to look up, he prayed that the footsteps reached him before the large man at his side had the chance to take his Pokémon; indeed, the feeling of the Aron's ball trembling on his belt was enough to fill his body with feelings of the worst kind. The poor little guy was probably terrified by what was going on - he was safe from the Poison Gas, sure, but Connor was almost certain he could sense from the Pokéball's movements, and perhaps the atmosphere of his current situation, that something was deeply wrong - and the quivering was probably hell on his already exhausted joints, too - and he needed to have the nurse's medication put on, too; something he reckoned Paulie neither knew nor cared to know about.

Connor had lost count of the times he'd been in a sticky situation that day, but this was certainly one of them, and it posed the risk of ending his adventure so soon - more importantly, it risked Aron's health, something that caused the trainer's stomach to fill with pangs of guilt. So deep, was he, in this train of thought, that he almost forgot entirely forgot about the footsteps approaching him.

He would've warned the owner of these footsteps not to get too close to the gas were it not for the fact that such a move would open the floodgates for a storm of vomit. This didn't seem to be a problem, however, as the sound of feet stopped a good ten meters away from him. He felt, too, that Paulie was no longer looming over him.

Indeed, this assumption was correct - whilst Paulie would have liked to taken Aron that moment, it appeared as though a rather unwelcome visitor had appeared.

Paulie took a moment to size the man up as he neared, putting him at no less than six foot and three inches tall, and the thief warranted a guess that he definitely did fitness training, judging by the rather athletic frame covered in a slightly crumpled white shirt, red tie and dark trousers - Paulie noted the absence of a belt for his Pokémon from his outfit. His face was rather intriguing to the thief; his skin seemed rather clear, complexion rather pale and nose short, with bags under the bold green eyes that glared, unimpressed, at him, his nostrils flared; his silently furious expression was masked by an unaffected mouth. Paulie's attention, though, was drawn to the approaching man's snow white hair. Whilst it wasn't a complete mess, it wasn't very neat, either; locks of it fell behind his ears and across his forehead in what Paulie thought best to describe as an overgrown Caesar cut.

It may have seemed frivolous to spend such time analyzing a man's appearance as he approached, seemingly prepared to fight, but Paulie certainly didn't think that way; no, only an amateur would do something without reason. From his brief scan, he figured that walking towards him was a man who didn't care much for Pokémon battles, nor for his own appearance - probably more of a business-oriented person, and one who probably took quite a logical approach to things.

To be more precise, he was one of those haughty-taughty rich types - his favourite type of customer. Paulie smirked. Did he really think that he was some sort of tough guy? What was he gonna do, throw money at him and tell him to get gone? The man who was now standing still before him, just out of the reach of the gas, may have been a hurdle, but hurdles were made to be jumped over - and this one wasn't a particularly large one.

"Ya got a problem?" asked Paulie, staring the man in the eyes with a confident smirk. "'Cos if ya do, I'd be _more_ than happy to help ya solve it."

The man was unmoved, crossing his arms as he put forward his steely rebuke to the staredown. "My issue is that you appear to have poisoned a helpless young man with a toxic gas - a potent one, at that - and were on the verge of taking his Pokémon. I certainly hope that this wasn't the case, and I was merely seeing things, but you understand that, as of three weeks ago, my vision is perfectly fine," he firmly stated, his voice deep and unwavering.

"Heh… well, perhaps ya should see a new doctor, guy."

"Perhaps. Or perhaps you should leave this fellow alone, and leave."

"Oh ho _ho,_ threatenin' me? Just as I predicted, then; ya _do_ got a problem," said Paulie in a mocking tone, taking a couple of steps through the gas and closer to the man. "Whatcha gonna do about it?"

"Before I answer that," replied the man blankly, "you wouldn't mind if I asked you something, first?"

Paulie contemplated this for a moment, before hitting the man with a look that dripped with smugness. "Hah, I've got the time to humour ya before I kick yer ass. Shoot, bozo," he shot back with faux friendliness.

"You're perfectly fine with standing in poisonous gas. You specialise in Poison-type Pokémon, do you not?"

"Hmph. No shit, genius. Now, are ya-"

"And furthermore, you wouldn't happen to have worked in pest control in the past, would you?"

"...Eh?" responded Paulie, intrigued.

"Well, I ask because your body has obviously grown resistant to the sort of poison that Stunky or Skuntank produce. Given that you didn't even flinch as you walked into the gas, you've obviously been exposed to it outside of Pokémon training; I'm also assuming - on account of your voice - that the conditions you've worked with them in were unfavourable, to the point where it left you with some permanent damage to your respiratory system. What other professions would have one work in such conditions - such as an unfiltered vent or a dank basement - enough to for the body to become used to it, I wonder?"

"...Hm. Correct, but what does this have to do with me takin' some Pokémon, guy?"

Connor, who had used this to wriggle himself just far enough to get into a position where breathing was no longer a serious risk, had a similar question - what did this man have planned with all these questions? Was he a detective of some sort? He tried opening his eyes to view what was going down, but the buildup of water in his eyes made his vision extremely blurry, something that prompted him to blink rapidly to clear up.

"Tell me, until how long ago did you work in pest control?"

"'Bout five months ago, but that don't answer my question."

"Interesting. That's also roughly when this string of robberies started, isn't it, Paulie?"

This caught both the attention of Connor and the ire of Paulie, with the latter's expression morphing into one of both shock and anger, eyebrows arched and eyes squinted as he spoke in a growling tone. "You been followin' me, bozo? You some sort of cop or somethin'? How'd ya know my name, pig?!"

The man's face was almost completely deadpan, visibly apathetic towards the thief's accusatory remarks - with the exception of a flicker of disgust and a flaring of his nostrils. "Not exactly. If I were a policeman in Jubilife, do you really believe I would have found you? No, my job is to serve the people in any way I can."

"Oh, knock it off with yer holier-than-thou Tauros shit! Yer a glorified - what'ssaword - vigilante, is what you are!" shot back Paulie, his tone increasingly hostile before breaking into a chuckle. "You ain't any better than I am!"

"Good point," rebuked the man dryly, "except one of us is an unrepentant Pokémon thief who attacks defenseless children, and one of us is trying to stop that from happening. I'll operate outside the law if I need to, so long as it keeps the innocent safe from people like you."

Whilst this conversation went on, Connor found the time to sit up out of reach from the gas, taking deep breaths in and out as he wiped his eyes and occasionally gagging as vomit came up his throat. Gathering his composure as he waited for Reyes to return, he was a little intrigued by his apparent saviour. To him, the man seemed quite a scary figure; there was just something a little intimidating about his no-nonsense demeanour, and his seemingly laser-focused line of questioning was quite unnerving to see in action. In addition, whilst he was, admittedly, quite disappointed that he didn't catch onto Paulie's ruse, Connor couldn't help but wonder how this man knew the thief's real name.

"People like _me?_ I'm only doin' what a man's gotta do to survive on this bitch of a planet. You wanna help people? Go run for office or somethin'! Society's the real problem here."

"I'll give you credit on one thing - to convince yourself that stealing Pokémon from defenseless teenagers using poisonous gas is necessary because of the state requires some fantastic mental gymnastics."

"I ain't got time for this! You're gonna tell me who you are and how ya got my name this instant, and then you're get yer ass outta here before I kick it out for ya!"

"...Hm. I suppose I owe you that much."

The man pulled out a Pokéball from the back of his jacket and opened it, with what Connor believed to be an Alakazam coming out. As he scanned the yellow, vulpine creature with his Pokédex to confirm this, he couldn't help but notice that the Psychic-type shared one characteristic with its trainer - its authoritative demeanour, accentuated by the unwavering look it gave with its tiny black pupils.

"My name is Julius Verstand, and I work as vice president for GERECHT. As for how I found you, I must attribute some of it to luck. I'd been hearing stories of a thief with Poison-type Pokémon around these parts since they started - it's practically all they talk about down at the Center - but about a month after these robberies began, our offices had a bit of a pest problem. The employee who was sent to deal with it, I recall striking up a conversation with them - they were quite frustrated about not being able to reach the Zubat, and they mentioned your name, as a matter of fact. You were fired from stealing from your boss the month before, and I figured that perhaps this was a lead. Months of investigation and speaking to victims in my spare time later, it would seem that I was correct - although it is rather unfortunate that I wasn't able to get here before you attacked this young man. I suppose that means there's more wood in the cross to which I shall nail you, then?"

"Nail me to a cross?! I don't think so, pal! Stunky!" declared Paulie, gesturing towards Julius as he darted his head to his companion, who gave back an affirmative "Stunk!" before beginning his attack.

The thief watched on as his Poison-type companion's stubby little legs carried it in a valiant charge, rushing towards the opposing Alakazam as he let out a battle cry in the form of a bubbling hiss, fangs bared. The ten meter gap between the two Pokémon began closing as the ball of purple fuzz continued to accelerate, much to the delight of Paulie, whose face was illuminated by a confident grin. Neither this Julius bozo nor his Alakazam were even reacting to this - were they scared out of their wits? Whatever it was, it was good news for Paulie; he reckoned Alakazam would turn in a pretty penny on the market.

The Poison-type, as it reached the three meter mark from its opponent, changed up its stride for a couple of paces before launching itself from its hind legs, beady eyes lit up with fervour as it prepared to latch down its fangs onto the Alakazam's head in a Bite attack. An Alakazam as _well_ as this kid's Pokémon?! Oh, this'd show the boss! Paulie watched on in glee as an ecstatic grin lit up his face, preparing to witness Stunky's attack - one he recalled was super effective against Psychic-types, too! The thief had hit the jackpot on this one!

"Signal Beam," ordered Julius, completely blank.

Almost without even moving, the Alakazam merely grunted as a brilliant green beam of energy shot out from its spoons, striking the Stunky with enough force to render it unconscious as it flew into a wall at the end of the alley.

A confused "What?!" was all Paulie could muster in response, before a call rang through the alley.

"OI! Bastard!"

Connor turned around to see the figure of Reyes, with his navy blue longcoat flowing in the breeze. He didn't seem to be a particularly happy camper, to put things lightly - his voice was hoarse with rage, eyebrows arched in fury as a fire burnt bright in his brilliant green eyes, almost twitching in the ferocity of their squint as locked onto the thief. The arm he wasn't using to hold his (very displeased) Gible was outstretched and unmoving, an accusatory index finger aimed straight at the thief before him.

Paulie's confident demeanour had quickly evaporated, his ecstasy now very much agony. One question was on his mind as he fumbled for his Pokéball - what the hell had just happened? Within the space of about three minutes, he'd gone from having a surefire ticket to getting a good pay, to now being faced by two angry trainers - one of whom was capable of wiping out his Pokémon in a single hit, and the other he recognised as his original target with a Pokémon he'd never seen before (and wasn't too keen on meeting, judging by the razor teeth it was baring) - and the threat of losing his place in the gang, his respect with the boss, and the great ladder of his career advancement within the mob being pulled out from under him looming large. He hated to admit it, but he was cornered as a Rattata. Unless…

He peeked behind him, his pupils moving up and down like a ping pong ball as he sized up the fence behind him.

"Don't even think about running, you dumbass!" demanded Reyes in response, his arm now at his side as he moved ever closer to Paulie, an air of authority surrounding him. Julius, without saying a word, seemed to echo this sentiment in his wordless stare.

Paulie's heart raced as he weighed up his options. He either faced surrendering himself to the two and likely end up not getting beaten in exchange for information, or he had the chance to run away, get some other idiot's Pokémon and go back to the boss safe and sound - with the slight risk of being caught. As Reyes neared, his fists clenched and body shaking with anger, he made up his mind.

With a hasty pirouette, the thief swivelled around, recalling Stunky as he rushed over to the fence, managing to jump just high enough to put his hands atop it.

"Dammit!" cursed Reyes, quickly switching his focus to Julius and barking out orders with his finger pointed at the fence. "You go after him, and I'll make sure the kid's alright!"

Julius was caught a little off-guard by this outburst, flinching ever so slightly before nodding. "I'm on it," he duly declared before giving chase, his Alakazam assisting him by amplifying his jump with levitation so that he floated over the fence before following.

After the pair made their exit, Reyes could do nothing but stare at the fence, taking a few deep breaths as he slowly relaxed himself, the tension slowly leaving his body. He fell silent for a moment as he unclenched his fists and dropped his shoulders, his expression softening into one of shame and anger. It was his fault that he'd lost Connor in the crowd, and the results were clear - the poor guy was on the floor after a gas attack, eyes watering and throat burning as he stopped himself from convulsing, trying not to puke his guts out. This was in spite of a promise he'd made to Florence at the Pokémon Center, and to Connor, too, and not only had he broken his promise, he'd let his new friend down.

"Connor, are you okay?" he softly spoke, breaking the silence as he turned his head to partly face Connor.

"Hm?" grunted the injured trainer through coughs, his voice croaky.

Reyes turned his entire body around to face Connor, feigning a warm smile to mask his worry. "How are you keeping?"

"Oh, uh… I-" began Connor in response, keeping down some bile before he continued, not wanting to worry one of his saviours. "I've been better, but… I think it could be worse. Just got a bit of a bad throat and watery eyes, is all."

Reyes nodded in response, before letting out a deep sigh, walking towards Connor as he spoke before sitting against the alley wall next to him. "Listen, I… I'm sorry, really. This was entirely my fault. It shouldn't have even happened, and you shouldn't even be in this whole mess, but I messed up, and I got distracted, and I didn't realise you were gone until it was much too late. If you are even a little mad at me, I completely understand, and all I can do is make sure you're okay, and promise to do what I can to make sure this doesn't happen again."

"Woah, hey," urged Connor in response, "don't worry a… about it. I'm not mad, honestly; it's really not your fault. I shouldn't've gone down this alley in the fiirst place." He briefly paused to clear his throat of phlegm in the hopes of stopping the cough from interrupting his speaking further, before continuing with a friendly chuckle. "B-besides, at least you came back!"

"I dunno… I guess I just should've done better, is all, Connor. That bastard shouldn't have even been able to escape, to be honest. But nevertheless, your, what's the word… your forgiving, it's appreciated, friendo."

"No worries!. Be- besides, I think someone's trying to cheer you up," pointed out Connor with a smile, glancing at Garra, who was currently making soft grunting noises and nuzzling into the armpit of Reyes' jacket, his eyes closed and content.

"Huh? Oh… oh, hey, Garra, boy!" exclaimed Reyes as he noticed the Dragon-type, gently stroking his scaly back with one of his hands as a warmth lit up his face. "You aren't going to bite me again, are you?"

Connor watched on. There was something he couldn't help but find a little adorable about the Dragon-type, one who'd left so many marks on Reyes' arm, trying to cheer him up - and it seemed to be succeeding.

"Y'know, Reyes, he definitely seems to care about you, and that's a very good start for Dragon-types. The bites will probably stop over time, you just need to properly get used to each other and strengthen that bond."

"I see," affirmed Reyes, nodding content as he continued to pet his Pokémon. "As cliché as that may be, you may be right. My main worry is trying to do this with more Pokémon, though - Bagon is not exactly a friendly Pokémon; most dragon types aren't."

"Well, this is still day 1 for me, so… take it with a pinch of salt, but I'd suggest pacing yourself with your team. Only expand your team once you've bonded with all of your Pokémon."

"Hm… that doesn't sound so bad of an idea."

"Well, it's easier said than done. That's why so few people get past the Elite Four and become eligible for the League, isn't it?"

"Of course, of course," noted Reyes, noticing that Garra had apparently dozed off under all the scritches. "...So, shall we head back to the Center?"

"That sounds good," replied Connor, clearing his throat once more as he found his way back to his feet, politely rejecting Reyes' offer to help him up in the form of an outstretched hand. His vision was still a little blurred as he wiped his eyes some more, and his voice was still a little croaky from his burning throat, but he was definitely feeling a little better.

* * *

"Ah, you're back, I see," noted Florence dryly as the doors to Jubilife's Pokémon Center opened with a mechanical creak. "How'd it go?"

Connor offered a hesitant thumbs up, an awkward grin plastered on his face in a (poor) effort to mask his discomfort as the pair moved closer to the desk.

"...Takin' that to mean 'we fucked up,' then?"

"Actually," replied Reyes, a little proud, "I will have you know we only fucked up _slightly_!"

"Ah, strewth! Nice job!" said the nurse, sarcasm dripping from her voice. "You gonna elaborate?"

"I, uh…" began Connor, glancing down in slight embarrassment as he tried to avoid Florence's gaze. "I found the guy, but… I might have goofed slightly, and I might have gotten a little… uh… gassed by his Stunky."

"Ah, shit. You good now, though?" enquired the nurse.

"Sorta?" croaked Connor, uncertain.

"Ya sure? Your voice sounds a bit fucked, mate. Ya can go fetch some water, if ya want."

"Oh, don't worry ab-" began the trainer, before coughing into his jacket's arm. "Don't worry about me. It was… kinda my own fault, anyways."

"...Well, if you insist. How 'bout the crook? Did ya get him?"

"Funny story, actually! My good friend here managed to distract him for just long enough for backup to arrive, and he's been dealt with! ...I think," chimed Reyes, proud as he pointed to Connor - this statement was confirmed by affirmative chirps and grunts from Garra.

"I mean… I wouldn't say 'inhaling poisonous gas' is a great diversion, but… hey, if it works, it works! Good on ya, little fella!" Florence, pointing a finger gun at Connor with a congratulatory smile before turning back to Reyes. "...Whaddaya mean by 'I think,' though?"

"You see, there was another guy in the alley too when I got there, and we managed to corner the crook, but he ran off - so I got the other guy to chase after him! Problem solved," replied Reyes, giving a hearty thumbs up.

"You sent some random dude after a dangerous criminal?" asked the concerned nurse, her voice becoming notably more serious.

"In his defence, though, he did have an Alakazam… and he took out one of the thief's Pokémon, too," muttered Connor, to support Reyes.

"Oh, yeah, what he said - the guy floated over the fence to catch 'im!"

"Oh, right - in that case, nice goin'!" said Florence, visibly impressed. "Just… try not to get gassed next time, mmkay?"

Connor weakly chuckled in response. "Will do."

"So, anyway, you fellas got anywhere to stay tonight? If not, we can gladly letcha stay in one of our rooms," proposed Florence.

"Well, now that you mention it, that sounds a whole bunch better than camping out in the wild. You with me, Connor?"

Connor considered this for a minute, before nodding in agreement.

"Alright! We'll take you up on that!"

Florence pulled out a pair of keys in response, handing them to the boys. "In that case, your number's on the key; we lock up at 10:30, and we're gonna need 'em back by noon tomorrow unless you're stayin' then as well."

"Neato! Thanks, nurse!" replied Reyes, smiling graciously before heading over to one of the free seats in Center, his companion following suit.

"Ooh, before I forget…"

After taking his seat, Connor took out Ronnie's Pokéball, releasing him before him on the table as he took out the joint relief medicine from his bag with his other hand.

"Hey, bud, how're you holding up?" he softly spoke, petting the Steel-type's forehead. The Aron strained itself a little to nuzzle Connor's hand in reply, his movement severely limited by muscle pain - something Connor was quick to pick up on. "Aww, I know, Ronnie, I'm sorry. Do you mind if I rub a little something where it hurts?"

"Ar…"

Connor applied the lotion to his hand, offering his palm to the Steel-type and gently applying it to his neck and limb joints. The medicine was cold, but Ronnie couldn't help but feel slightly relieved as it was applied - there was something a little soothing about the way Connor almost massaged it on, prompting him to let out a few contented coos.

"Seriously," remarked Reyes, "that's very impressive for someone who's been a trainer for less than a day, Connor."

"Yeah, but what _isn't_ impressive is my battling. Obviously being so close to him after a day is impressive - and it's partly because he's a _very good boy,"_ replied Connor, turning to his pleased companion as he spoke that last part, "but it'd be nice if I had any idea how not to get him hurt after a battle, y'know?"

"Mmm. Actually, that does bring me onto something, my friend."

"Hm?"

"Well, I was thinking, we'd make a good team, y'know? You're a pretty clever guy when it comes to Pokémon, and you definitely know how to handle 'em - while I, on the other hand, can help you out when it comes to fighting and stuff. And I know it doesn't seem like it, but without your contribution, that damned Paulie would have got away - so what I'm suggesting is, we travel and do the gym challenge together. It'll be fun! What do you say?"

Connor was visibly caught a little off guard by this, his eyes widening a little. It'd been less than a day since he decided that he wasn't too keen on the "people" aspect of his adventure, and yet already somebody had offered to travel with him. He wasn't too sure how to respond, in all honesty - normally he would have fumbled out a sheepish "no thanks," or just slipped away, but… Reyes was different. He couldn't put his finger on it, but there was something about him that made Connor trust him.

He clearly wasn't a bad guy, for one; in 24 hours he'd broken one thief's leg and sicked a trainer on another. What was more, he hadn't (intentionally) abandoned him in the alley, and, despite his self-admitted awful people skills, he got the impression that Reyes probably wouldn't end up stabbing him in the back at any point. The more he weighed it up, the more he realised that this probably wasn't a bad idea - he could've thought of worse people to share company with, and he'd probably get some battle experience from it, too.

"Well, uh… I mean… I don't see why not? I'm not really much of a people person though, to be honest, so you might be a little disappointed if you're looking for _good_ company," nervously chuckled Connor, turning a shade of red.

"Oh, don't worry about it! I'm sure you can't be that bad, if you're as interested in anything as you are in Pokémon. Besides, like I said, it'll be interesting learning about them from you."

"Really? Uh, thanks!" made out a delighted Connor, a little grin sprouting across his face. "In that case, I don't think there'll be any problems, then… you do have equipment for camping outside, don't you?"

"I could easily pick some up. But are all the routes in Sinnoh this small? Could we not just stay in Pokémon Centers, or hotels?"

"Mmm… no. It takes several hours to cross route 203, after all, and that's one of the smallest routes in Sinnoh. Most of them take a couple of days; it takes a good two weeks to get to Snowpoint from the nearest city on foot, and there's the matter of the Coronet mountain range, too, so I imagine we'll be doing the camping thing a lot."

"Interesting. I'll try and pick some up tomorrow, then,"

"In that case, I'd be happy to come along!"

"Excellent!"

While Reyes was beaming about this development, the doors of the Pokémon Center whirred open, and in walked the man from the alley. As he looked around before eventually laying eyes on the pair and approaching them, Connor couldn't tell if it was the fluorescent lighting of the Center compared to the gloomy alley, but he thought something was slightly different about his shirt - were his eyes deceiving him, or was his shirt a little whiter than it was before?

"I see you've noticed the change of shirt," said Julius, prompting Reyes to turn towards him as he took a seat in between the two trainers.

"Hmm? Oh, I- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to stare," sheepishly replied Connor.

"Oh, don't worry about it. I spilt something on the one I was wearing on the way here, and had to go change it, in case you were wondering."

"Hey, Julius," chirped Reyes. "How are you? Aside from the coffee thing, I mean."

"Not bad. I just thought I'd come in to let you know that that Paulie fellow's been dealt with."

"Ah, cool! Thanks!"

"Don't mention it. In any case, how are the both of you doing? You, uh - what's your name?" enquired Julius, looking at the smaller of the two trainers.

"Connor."

"Connor, right - I recall you were in quite a bad state after that whole ordeal. Are you feeling any better now?"

"Sort of, yeah" he replied, his voice still slightly croaky.

"I see. That's good to hear. As for you, young man -"

"Reyes."

"Reyes, I must say, your bravery was quite commendable when it came to helping out your friend."

"Thanks!"

"It's quite alright. If anything, I should be the one thanking you; your assistance was greatly appreciated in making sure the situations regarding the thief and your friend were solved."

Julius' attention turned to the Aron on the table, the Steel-type giving him a welcoming look.

"Is this your Pokémon?" he asked Connor.

"O-oh, uh, yeah - I only just got him today. He's called Ronnie, and he's had a very busy day, haven't you, boy?" replied the trainer, petting the Steel-type's back.

"Ron," grunted Ronnie, a little weary.

Julius gently patted the Pokémon's head, a weak smile spreading across his face. "I see. And do you have any other Pokémon?"

"No."

"So, this is your first day?"

"Yep."

"Hm. Well, if you play your cards right, the rest of it will hopefully be an improvement over being gassed, won't it?"

"I suppose so," replied Connor, pondering this statement somewhat.

An awkward silence spread through the air.

"Now that I think about it, actually, I met another trainer who was starting out today in town, too. I don't suppose you'd happen to know him, would you? Spiky red hair, a little on the tall side, quite intense… his name began with a H, but I can't quite remember it."

"...Hawley?"

"Ah, that was it. You know him?"

"Yes."

"He was at the Pokémart looking for supplies, and I believe someone was trying to take his wallet while he was distracted. It was quite the scene - him and his Croagunk beat the man to the floor, just in front of the cashiers. He got kicked out, of course, but it was quite interesting to watch. Spoke to him about it afterwards - he asked to see my Pokémon. Quite a fiery temper on that boy, but he certainly knows his stuff."

"Sounds like him," remarked a reluctant Connor.

"You seem quite different from him, I must say. Are you friends?"

"Not really, no."

"I see... between you and me, he seems like he has a lot of potential, but he perhaps needs to mellow out a bit. It'd be a shame to see such skill go to waste, or fall into the wrong hands."

"Mm," mumbled Connor, his attention turning back to the Steel-type on the table.

The silence returned.

"I take it you're a trainer yourself, Julius?" asked Reyes, curious. "I didn't get to see any of the action, but that Pokémon of yours seemed real strong."

"Oh, Alakazam? I've known him for a long time - he's been with me for as long as I can remember. Very strong Pokémon, very smart… really, an invaluable partner. As for training… I did the gym challenge and the Elite Four when I was about your age, about… fifteen years ago, I believe? The League wasn't my cup of tea, though; I haven't competitively battled in years. More important things got in the way."

"The Elite Four, eh? Not bad! Have you ever been called up to fight the Champion?"

"I've never applied. As I said, more important things got in the way - I'd prefer to be known through my work via that instead of through battling."

"That's fair, I suppose."

Silence once more.

"...Well, I should probably be leaving," declared Julius as he got up. "It was good to meet you two - you seem like good young men. Perhaps we'll meet again, but if we don't, I wish you both the best on your adventures."

"Oh, thanks!"

"You too, Julius!"

With that, he offered his hand to each of the trainers - Connor kindly refused, whereas Reyes accepted his handshake, noting his rather firm grip - before leaving.

"He seems nice," remarked Connor.

"Aye, he does," affirmed Reyes, nodding for a moment. "...So, anyway, Connor, how's your journey been so far? Aside from the whole thief thing, of course."

Connor reflected on it for a moment. Sure, the day had had it's bad points - a one-sided encounter against his childhood nemesis, Ronnie fighting himself into exhaustion and getting poisoned by a thief were not experiences he was quite keen to repeat, and he was convinced they would have made a rotten day for any trainer, let alone a complete newbie. But at the same time, some great things had happened that day, too. He'd gotten his trainer's gear, he'd already made good progress with his starter Pokémon _and_ a new friend, and between Julius and Murphy, he'd met some other very decent people, too. All in all, it was a very solid start.

"Pretty good, but man, I'm _exhausted._ You wouldn't mind if I went to our room now, would you?"

"Oh, sure! In fact, I'll probably do the same in 30," replied Reyes, handing him his key, "but a word of warning: I don't know much about the movies in Sinnoh, so you're in charge of that. You'd better pick something good, OK?"

"I'll try," laughed Connor with a half-smile, as he got up and grabbed Ronnie's ball before crouching down to face the Steel-type, gently rubbing his head.

"You ready to get some rest, little guy? It's been a long day, and you gotta rest up to get better."

"Ar!" cried out Ronnie in affirmative, giving a single firm nod.

"Good to hear! I'll see you in the morning!"

With that, the Aron returned to his ball, and Connor retired to his room for the night, giving a solitary wave to Reyes.

* * *

 **Pokémon Stats - Alakazam**

 **\- Trainer: Julius Verstand**

 **\- Male**

 **\- Type: Psychic**

 **\- Ability: Synchronize**

 **\- Level: 59**

 **HP: D (55)**

 **Attack: D (50)**

 **Defence: D (45)**

 **Special Attack: S (135)**

 **Special Defence: B (95)**

 **Speed: A (120)**

" _ **Alakazam is a species is renowned for its incredible intellect, with an IQ of around 5,000 recorded in some individuals - although this is disputed by some. This is believed to be helped in part by its massive brain, cased in a head too heavy for its neck to support without telekinetic assistance. Finding a fully-evolved member of the Abra family in the wild is exceedingly rare, and if one finds a wild Alakazam, it should be avoided if possible, as its strong psychic powers can have strongly adverse effects on humans if not already trained."**_


	7. They Call Me the Seeker (4)

**_09:33 - October 10th, 2007_**

Connor's first night away from home was quite a pleasant one, as things turned out.

After a fairly decent dinner from the Center's room service, he managed to locate some old copies of Masked Ranger episodes to watch with Reyes as the pair settled down on separate bunks. It came as quite a surprise to the Sinnohan that his new friend had never heard of it - the show only managed to develop a cult following in Hoenn, due in no small part to the decidedly cheesy dubbing - but nevertheless, a very good time was had by all, with Reyes quickly becoming enamoured by action and over-the-top dialogue. The show was bright enough to keep even his Pokémon entertained, with Garra staying up to make excited grunts and squeaks towards the array of colours on screen before eventually dozing off at about ten; Reyes followed suit around an hour later, with his alarm set for half past seven in the morning.

"Connor," began a mildly concerned Reyes over a glass of water about two hours after waking up, "are you _sure_ you aren't tired? What time did you even go to sleep last night?"

"One in the morning," replied Connor, a little groggy as he held back a yawn, the two chestnut forelocks that usually stood like antennae now drooping over his face.

"Geez! That isn't healthy! You need to get eight hours every night, man! Do you do that a lot?"

"Go to bed late? Mmm… I guess… I'm just not good at sleep schedules. Most of the time it's not _too_ big a deal, but I'm not really a morning person, haha... but I'm good, though, anyways! How are you?"

"Wh- I mean, I'm fine, but don't worry about _me,_ Connor! You've got to get more rest next time!"

"Oh, trust me, I'm used to it by now," said Connor, giving a smile to reassure his partner before continuing. "Besides, you never know when you'll get attacked by a nightmare demon."

"...a- are nightmare demons _common_ in Sinnoh?" enquired Reyes, his companion's phrasing raising a few doubts.

"Hm? Well, not common, no, but… y'know."

"I do?"

"I, uh… that was a joke, but there's at least _one,_ " offered Connor in a sheepish fashion.

"Ah, well, that's not very many - and that means it's no excuse to miss out on your eight hours!"

Reyes' somewhat jovial finger-wagging was cut short by an unrecognisable mess of light brown and frizzy hair, wearing an off-white top and torn jeans, approaching the two trainers at the table in the Center and taking a seat in between them, prompting Connor to fall silent, beginning to nibble at one of his thumbnails, trying to avoid staring for fear of coming off rude.

"...Hello?" asked a confused Reyes, awkwardly offering a grin.

"Mm? Ah," the figure grunted, swatting it out of her face to reveal a familiar pair of sapphire eyes.

"Oh, Florence, hey!"

"G'day," mumbled the off-duty nurse, holding her cup of coffee in a vice-like grip as she blankly took a sip from it.

Quietness filled the air as the conversation found itself at an impasse, before Reyes took the initiative to speak. "...So, how are you?"

"Fuckin' tired, mate. You?"

"I am good! Connor, here, showed me this show last night about this guy who dresses up as a Bisharp and beat bad guys up. Have you ever seen it?"

"Nah. Too busy studying medicine and treating Pokémon to watch blokes in cosplay have a scrap."

"I recommend it, but... may I also recommend getting more sleep? I was just saying; it's important and it keeps stress at bay."

"I'll sleep when I'm dead, thanks very much."

Florence took another sip from her coffee as she continued to look onwards. Silence filled the air as both of the trainers at the table only offered perplexed looks.

"Um… is… is everything alright?" asked a hesitant Connor, careful so as to not invoke the nurse's wrath.

"No," grumbled Florence in reply, firmness present in her voice.

"O-oh. Do, uh… do you wanna tell us the problem?"

"No."

"Right, s-sorry," stammered Connor, wincing a little.

Weary, the nurse paused for a moment before the top half of her torso seemed to deflate, shoulders dropping back and a sigh escaping her lungs.

"It's no worries, little fella, it's just… work is a bitch, y'know?"

"I, uh… I don't, no," said Connor, swiftly coming to regret his complete sincerity after earning himself a displeased look.

It was at this point that Reyes offered a welcome reprieve by re-entering the conversation himself. "Look, you can tell us what's wrong, and we won't judge you for it - right, Connor?" he began, to which Connor offered a quick nod. "Besides, it isn't healthy to bottle up your feelings. You've got to let them out."

"Do I look healthy to you?" shot back Florence.

"...Yes?"

"Wrong answer. But since you two won't stop askin'... I'm still an apprentice here, you see - I'm about the same age as you two, and that's apparently not old enough to be working as a proper, full-blown nurse 'ere. Which is fair enough - I mean, no offence, Reyes, but you're older than me and I wouldn't trust ya to save a Word document, let alone a life - but according to the boss, I gotta get a year or two out in the field with trainers before I can do proper dinkum surgery, because apparently I'm "inexperienced" and "don't know enough about Pokémon to be a full-time nurse" and "not well-equipped enough to handle trainers" - and in my defence, I'm a damn _nurse!_ Do you know how many dipsticks come in here because they tried to make toast with the toaster plugged into an Electivire, or who decided to put Charmander in the bathtub?"

"Mmm, that sounds… challenging, to say the least," replied Reyes, brushing off the thinly-veiled insult. "Do you have anyone to travel with?"

"Nah, 'course not."

"Then I have a proposition! How would you feel about traveling with us?" the trainer declared with gusto in his voice, confidence radiating from his body like a lighthouse.

"No."

"Well, then it's settl- wait, you said no?"

"Aye. Don't get me wrong, you seem like nice blokes, but you're… how can I put this without bein' a dingus… you sorta managed to make your Pokémon's entire body hurt and then went out and got gassed the other day, Connor. I'm sure you'll be a good trainer one day, but… I'd sorta prefer something safer for now, y'know?"

"...Oh," said Connor, trying his best to hide his disappointment (and failing quite miserably).

"Hey!" butted in a more assertive Reyes. "Leave him out of this! He knows what he's doing, trust me! If anything, I'm the one to blame for that whole ordeal - but Connor here's a good boy!"

"I'm sure he is, but if you're in charge here, and you still got the fella gassed, that just makes you look like a damn idiot, y'know?"

"Hmph. Is there anything I can do to change your mind, then?"

"...You really are a persistent bugger, aren't you?"

"Correct!"

Florence thought about this for a moment, her baggy eyes deep in thought, before a grin twisted itself across her tired face.

"Alright, then I'll make you boys a little wager. It's the 10th today, isn't it?"

"Yep!"

"If either one of you fellas can beat the Oreburgh Gym and show me the Coal Badge by the 25th, I'll come along."

Connor raised a finger, on the verge of objecting before a smiling Reyes made his boast. "Pah! I'll have it to you by the 20th!"

"That's nice, but I explicitly said the 25th. If you come to me with all of your Pokémon knocked out, I will kill you."

"In any case, you have a deal! What happens if we don't get the badge by then?"

"Jack-shit, that's what," grunted Florence.

"Come on, you can do better than that!" replied Reyes, smirking.

"Don't push your luck, mate."

"Or what?"

This response worried Connor, who at this point had resigned himself to holding his head in his hands, his hazel eyes staring in disbelief at his new companion. He was on the verge of breaking point and would have long since told him to stop for fear of his Pokémon's safety, were it not for the fact that it may have come off a little rude to someone who only meant well. Nevertheless, he was not a fan of where this conversation was headed.

"...Alright," said the nurse as she turned her attention back to her coffee, "I'd think of something, but my coffee's going cold. Now, if you pick up any minor scrapes and you need a doc, I'll still be here, and that goes for needing a room; otherwise, good luck with that gym thing. Now, lemme have my coffee in peace, if you boys wouldn't mind."

Connor felt himself exhale in relief as Reyes stood up. "Well, I suppose we'll be leaving then. Connor, are you coming with?" he asked, to which his companion nodded and followed suit, his rucksack on his back, with the duo making their exit.

* * *

The noon sun shone down through the thick foliage of Route 203 and onto the two trainers, with the silhouette of many a Starly soaring through the air. After applying lotion to the still-aching Ronnie for the second time that day, Connor reckoned that the Aron, who was currently curled up and resting in a patch of grass next to him, would probably be fit to battle in two or three days. This was far from ideal, to be out of commission for so long and so soon after starting, but at the very least, it allowed him to watch and study Reyes' fights.

For one, Connor noticed that he took the approach of alternating between his Pokémon in between fights instead of spending long stretches of time with a specific one. This allowed him to meet Reyes' Bagon, who had been so eloquently named "Baggo' - "Listen, I'm not very good at names, okay?" insisted his trainer - and get an idea of what the species was like. For one, Baggo seemed a lot more aggressive and hyperactive than Garra, making up for the level deficit (a mere level ten, one level behind Ronnie and five behind Garra) and less impressive attacking skills with sheer fervour and hunger to fight. He didn't seem to take too kindly to Connor, either, which led him to believe it would perhaps be best to spectate from afar.

As for Reyes' fighting style, Connor noticed a surprising amount of strategy went into his moves for such a low level of combat - from what he could deduce, both of his Pokémon were physical attackers, and so both prioritised getting into close range. Baggo was the faster of the two, and utilised this speed to harass opponents into inescapable nooks and crannies, beating them down from there with Bites and Rage attacks; conversely, Garra had more bulk, leading to a calmer and more defensive style that favoured moves such as Sandstorm and Take Down.

All of this made Connor think about whether or not he needed to expand his team. There didn't seem to be any downsides, but just to be safe...

"Reyes?" he asked, shortly after Reyes and Baggo had just defeated a particularly stubborn Starly.

"Yes, Connor?"

"How is it having two Pokémon?"

Reyes thought about this for a moment before replying. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I was thinkin'... when Ronnie's not fit to fight, I'll sorta need someone to fall back on, won't I? But, like… I don't know if I'm ready for it just yet. I'm not sure; I think I've gotta make sure I'm, y'know, 100% with Ronnie first and I can look after him properly first, before I catch someone else. Right?"

"Oh, don't worry about it, bud! Of all people, you've got the skill to train two Pokémon at the same time. I mean… I don't know nothing about Pokémon, and yet I'm training two Dragon-types at the same time and I still have my arms on!" said Reyes triumphantly, before remembering the bite marks he'd picked up from Garra. " ...Well, barely, but that's irrelevant!"

"...Mmm," replied Connor, a little unsure about the quality of this advice as he tilted his head slightly before turning his attention back to Ronnie, scratching the back of the cooing Steel-type's head. "Well, uh… thank you, anyway!"

"No problemo, friendo!"

It was at this moment that Connor happened to notice a familiar crimson-haired asshole walking down the route, the sound of each thudding step on the ground slowly filling him with dread as he drew nearer and nearer.

"Connor? Are you alright?" asked Reyes, noticing the sudden shift in his expression. "Is something the matter?"

"I'd… um, it's, uh, i- it's nothing, Reyes," came the reply, with Connor's voice going quieter, trying not to look as Hawley approached.

Concerned, Reyes couldn't help but have a look at the problem. The sight that greeted him was that of a trainer clad in a pea green jacket and black t-shirt who looked far too pleased with himself, a swagger in his step that didn't really help him look intimidating as it did weird.

"Oh, you're scared of _that_ guy? Psssh, come on, he's no biggie," he replied, jovial in his tone as he made sure he was out of earshot. "I'm sure he won't notice you, and if he does… you don't worry about it."

"Mmm, I wouldn't say 'scared,'" squeaked a Connor who was, in fact, quite noticeably scared, "I just… I don't really, how can I, uh… I just don't want to get involved, that's all."

"Connor, it'll be fine, trust me. If it comes to it, I'll handle it, buddy."

The pair fell silent as Hawley came nearer and nearer, not seeming to pay them any heed as the mostly unaffected look on his face remained constant. A sigh of relief almost escaped Connor's lungs as he began to gnaw on one of his jittery fingernails, when the crimson haired child turned around and lit up in glee, a smirk etched upon his face.

"Wasn't I clear enough the first time, dickweed?" he growled, smelling blood and lurching towards Connor as he reached into his belt.

"H-hey, Hawley," said Connor.

"Silence! Don't make me kick your ass again!" bellowed Hawley, stabbing a finger into his adversary's jaw. "Now, let me repeat myself: don't try and surpass me, you little shit! Do you understand me?!"

"Ah, I see Mr. Perfectly Normal Human has arrived," remarked Reyes, shooting him an unimpressed glance.

"...Hm?"

"Connor, come on, you're really scared of this weirdo? He's as edgy as a damn spoon!"

Hawley raised an eyebrow at Reyes, considering his options. Connor did seem adequately terrified, and he did have his sole Pokémon out injured - which presented a dilemma to him: whilst it would have been an effective method of showing his rival that he was boss, that he meant _business_... something felt a little off about it. It would have been unfair to attack someone who was _completely_ unable to defend themselves. What was more, someone had dared to get snarky with him? Such insolence, such disrespect - this would not stand! Nobody mocked the Wilkins family and got away with it unscathed! No, as much as he would have liked to beat some sense into his rival before him, he had more pressing concerns.

Connor felt himself exhale, relaxing his very stiff body and wiping the sweat off his brow as Hawley removed his finger from his jaw and turned to face Reyes, shooting said finger at him with a deadpan look.

"And who may you be?"

"I'll have you know you're speaking to the great Reyes Vasquez, of the Hoenn region."

"Hah, save your posturing-"

" _Mmmmsave your posturing,_ " replied Reyes in a mocking tone, gesturing a mouth opening and shutting as he looked straight at Hawley.

"Don't interrupt me."

" _Mmmmmdon't interrupt ME_."

"Are you mocking me?!"

" _MMMMMMMMare you mocking me?!"_

Hawley gritted his teeth in anger, clenching his fist as he scowled at the grinning Reyes - who would have been lying if he had said he hadn't found this incredibly amusing. So angered was he at this, as a matter of fact, that he had taken a few steps away from a Connor who was trying incredibly hard not to laugh for fear of a foot to the crotch.

"Now, listen here, bucko-"

" _Now listen here, bucko._ "

"I-"

" _I-_ "

"If you really think such immature tricks are going to anger me-"

"I'm right?"

"Hah! I can assure you I'm not mad-"

"You are, though-"

"Stop doing that-"

"No, you stop."

Connor only watched in amazement as the two bickered. It was blatantly obvious Reyes was trying to be as petty and immature as possible to get Hawley riled up, and, quite hilariously, it was working - perhaps he was wrong to think Hawley was as tough and menacing as he did if he went as red as his hair over having someone repeat him. It was completely ridiculous to watch, sure, but there was something deeply satisfying about watching him squirm over something so absurd.

This feeling was not shared by Hawley, who felt himself growl through jaws clenched so hard his teeth could have snapped at any moment. He tried desperately to mask his shaking arm as he opened the Pokéball in his hand, his Croagunk forming a few feet to the right of Reyes.

"If you _insist_ on being a child, then Tomyris here and I will beat you like one!"

"Oof, you hit children? That's pretty bad, man," tutted Reyes.

"You get what I meant!"

"You just said you'd beat me like a child…?"

"...Shut up!" yelled Hawley, his voice breaking into an enraged falsetto. "Tomyris, fill him with poison!"

"Baggo, go!"

The newly-nicknamed Croagunk rushed at Reyes with spiked, deep purple middle fingers just as his Bagon emerged from the light, rushing at Tomyris to halt her charge with a gaping mouth. Connor, having parked himself back on the ground to check on Ronnie - who was, thankfully, still resting - focused his attention on the developing battle, absent-mindedly rubbing his Steel-type partner's head.

Fortunately for Hawley, meanwhile, Tomyris just about managed to outspeed Baggo, propelling herself towards the Bagon with an outstretched and poison-tipped hand. Unfortunately for Hawley, the mighty jaws of the Dragon-type did not have to move much to counter this, clamping down on the Poison Sting attack with a bite of his own and trapping the Croagunk's arm in his mouth.

The tremendous impact of the bite prompted Tomyris to recoil and screech in agony as Baggo made his second move - a fire briefly ignited in the lungs of the Dragon-type, travelling up his throat and into his mouth and exposing Tomyris to burning embers. It took all of Tomyris' might to yank her arm from his mouth, every nerve in the limb in screeching pain as she fell to the ground for a moment, visibly bitter.

"Wh-what?!" exclaimed Hawley in an ambivalence of rage and shock. "How did you - agh, dammit! Tomyris, hit 'em back!"

"CROA!"

Baggo was rattled by Tomyris' sudden and splitting cry just long enough for the Croagunk to land a good hit on his chest, the sharp pangs around his ribs forcing him to grab at his chest in pain. Nevertheless, the wounded Dragon-type's rebuttal swiftly came in the form of a leer that oozed fury, and one that unnerved his opponent into dropping her defences a little.

"Trying to spook my Pokémon with underhanded tactics, are we?" spat a furious Hawley, accusatory in his tone as Tomyris proceeded to goad Baggo on in a taunting manner. "Fight like a man!"

"I, uh, I don't mean to butt in," called out a hesitant Connor, "but isn't your Croagunk female?"

"Silence, fuckface!"

Connor's interruption had bought Reyes just enough time to pick up on the fact that Tomyris was directly between Baggo and a tree stump - one that was about as tall as the Croagunk's back, which gave him an idea. His smile exuding conviction, he leant back against the tree behind him and spoke.

"Well, I'm not sure you want to do that, but if you _insist_. Baggo, Dragon Rush!"

The couple of seconds that Baggo, who was now charged and glowing a bright blue, spent preparing to spring himself forwards was not enough for Tomyris to dodge out of the way, and with all the might that his body could offer, his powerful neck muscles propelled his head directly into the Croagunk's stomach whilst imbued with draconic energy. The force of the impact was enough to send the Poison-type flying into the stump, smashing her back off it and rendering her unconscious in an instant.

"Guh-"

"You see… Hawley, wasn't it?" said Reyes, quite clearly pleased with himself. "Baggo here's quite a feisty boy, with a bit of Hydreigon in him, too. I would suggest perhaps not getting ahead of yourself next time, mmkay, friendo?"

Hawley flared his nostrils at him before chuckling at his opponent. "Hmm… well, you're clearly leagues ahead of your idiot friend, there, I'll give you that. But that doesn't make you better than me!"

Reyes took a glance towards Baggo, who was clearly not in the best shape despite his victory - as a matter of fact, it seemed as though the Croagunk's first attack had poisoned him, and his head was beginning to droop a little. "I think it does... but at the very least, can I switch my Pokémon before we keep doing this? The guy's exhausted."

"If you wish, but I don't see what difference it'll make when I kick-"

"Cool, thank you. Garra!" replied Reyes, as Baggo was swiftly replaced by his bluer and rounder colleague, who let out a battle cry as he looked at Hawley with beady black eyes.

"Clausewitz!" declared Hawley in rebuttal, opening another Pokéball picked from his belt to reveal a fuzzy Shinx, staring down his Dragon-type adversary with a fierce glare.

This development… it startled Connor a little. He'd already been lagging behind his rival quite significantly since yesterday, and now he already had a second Pokémon? He needed to up his game fast if he was to keep up, let alone get ahead of him.

"Interesting. Connor, correct me if I am wrong, but isn't that an Electric-type?"

Connor nodded.

"And aren't they, you know, not very good against Ground-types?"

Connor nodded.

"Oof," said Reyes as he winced a little at the grumbling Hawley, "bad move. Garra, create a sandstorm!"

"Tackle him!"

Letting out a guttural hiss, Clausewitz ran at his foe as Garra began digging into the ground, throwing up vast amounts of earth with enough force for the wind to create a miniature storm of mud. The Electric-type, being worn down somewhat by the pelting of mud, smacked his head into Garra's jaw, leaving him irritated but not particularly hurt - however, it did leave Reyes with a grin on his face as he prepared his next move.

"Use the hole in the ground to create a Sand Tomb!"

With that, Garra barged into the Shinx opposing him, knocking him into the hole in the ground with a thud. A pained squeal came from the bottom of the hole, accompanied by the sound of electric crackling, before the Gible dug its stubby arms into the earth. Quickly, he pelted great balls of mud down the hole, each one hitting Clausewitz and sending him back to the bottom of the hole with pained grunts.

"Dammit, Clausewitz! You can do this!" called out a frustrated Hawley as he rushed towards the hole, his jacket being stained brown from the mud storm pelting him.

By the time he'd managed to claw his way out of the hole, though, the onslaught had left him covered in mud and almost completely exhausted - and as he twisted his body back to face Garra, the storm of mud pelting him, it was clear that the battle was not one Clausewitz was fit to participate in any longer. Letting out a frustrated groan, he aimed his Pokéball's recall mechanism at the battered Electric-type, arcs of electricity seemingly uncontrollably shooting out of him.

Connor could only watch on in amazement as an apparently completely subdued Reyes, leaning against a tree and out of reach of the mud storm, gestured Garra back over.

"Calling it quits, are you?" he called out, his Dragon-type partner standing at his feet.

Hawley looked at him for a moment, the corners of his mouth curved downwards in an exasperated frown, before he sighed in defeat. Much to Reyes' thinly veiled delight, he returned Clausewitz to his ball.

"Alright, Connor, I think we're about done here," said Reyes, deciding against holding a now very muddy Garra for the time being. "Shall we go?"

"...Wait," muttered Hawley, giving his opponent a subdued smile as he approached.

"Hm?"

"Listen, that was a good battle, and I think we might've gotten off on the wrong foot earlier."

Reyes was caught a little off-guard by this sudden compliment, beaming a little. "Oh, thank you, but-"

"I can assure you, you can do much better than hanging out with that dweeb. What say you ditch him, and I'll give you a more… competent companion, shall we say?" interjected Hawley, holding out a hand.

The look on Reyes' face shifted into one of brief contemplation, before he spoke again. "I can't do that, unfortunately, but I can offer you some advice?"

"Hm. That's a shame, but… go on."

A silence filled the air for a brief moment before Reyes' fist slammed straight into Hawley's nose with all the torque his arm could muster, making a cracking noise as he turned away.

"GAH!" screamed Hawley, melting onto the ground in a fetal puddle as he put his hand over his bleeding nose, his deep voice transforming into a mumbling whimper. "What the fuck?!"

"Pick on someone your own size, trash. Connor, we're leaving."

Connor could only watch in an astonished mix of horror and awe as Hawley found his way back onto his feet, humiliated and crying as blood ran from his slightly misshapen nose down his hand as he stumbled away, giving only a furious look back at the pair. He couldn't help but feel a little guilty for being partly responsible for this - sure, he had been a bit of an ass, but his ego had been so emphatically shattered right in front of him, and the person he'd viewed as a formidable threat was now little more than a whimpering mess.

"Connor?"

"Hm? Oh, right."

He managed to tear away his eyes away from Hawley and began to walk away, returning Ronnie to his ball for the time being.

* * *

The rest of the pair's training was, for the most part, uneventful, and Reyes eventually decided to call it a day and return to the Pokémon Center. Connor, meanwhile, had been keeping tabs on Ronnie for most of the day; the Aron had spent a lot of this time resting, which was very good to see - Connor estimated that late the next day would be a good time to start easing him back into battling.

However, as the pair walked back - with Reyes making sure to keep a steady pace after the events of the previous day - Connor thought about some things that had been bothering him, deciding that perhaps it'd be best to get them off his chest.

"Hey, Reyes?"

"What is it, friendo?"

"...Were we a bit too harsh on Hawley earlier? I, uh, I know he was being a bit of an ass, but…"

"What? No, screw that guy! Why were you taking it, anyway? You can do better than taking crap from him."

Connor's demeanour turned more hesitant as he thought of a response. "It's… a pretty long story, but the gist of it is that… I just didn't want any trouble, y'know? And I dunno, I just feel a little bad we upset him like that."

"That's an admirable attitude, Connor, but the world can be a harsh place; sometimes you need to stand up to people like that. If someone's trying to hurt me and they're not listening to reason, then what can I do except hurt them back, y'know?"

"I suppose you're right… I just wish there was a way we could solve things by… like, beating him in a battle, without having to break his nose."

Reyes considered this for a moment before turning to face Connor in reply. "Hey, if it's any consolation, it wasn't 'we' - you didn't play any part in getting him so upset, I promise. I'm sorry that I didn't run it by you first."

"Oh, n-no, don't apologise - well, uh, not to me, anyway. I just hope we don't have to do that again, is all."

"So do I, but… sometimes, you don't have much of a choice. Besides, you _are_ a Pokémon trainer now - you're not going to be best friends with everyone in this world and, unless you're a doormat, making rivals, or enemies, is inevitable in this profession. Fighting sort of has to be one of your strong points, especially when you don't have Pokémon on hand."

"I… guess that makes sense. Thanks, Reyes," replied Connor, smiling softly at his companion.

"No problemo, friend! Besides, I've a question of my own for you: have you thought of what you'd like for a second Pokémon?"

"Hmm… you know, I'm not actually sure yet."

Connor had been thinking about this, and indeed, he hadn't come to a decision. Every Pokémon around these parts had merits and disadvantages, and, truth be told, it felt a little off to turn away a new member of his party because of their species.

"Well," offered Reyes, "if it's any help, I'm sure whatever you pick will fit right into your team!"

"I hope so."

* * *

"Well, it's not a particularly bad break," said the nurse as she rooted around her desk, "but I'm still going to have to prescribe you with ibuprofen for the next three weeks or so. Take three doses of two tablets a day until you run out. Whilst you're still healing, try to avoid any strenuous exercise for the next two weeks - so take it easy on the training, okay?"

"But-"

"No buts. You're blessed to look so much like your father, and you'll thank me when your nose isn't permanently bent."

Hawley grumbled in frustration. Letting up on the training was far from ideal - any time not spent training was time that both of those shitbags had on him. Time that he wasn't spending trying to become the best. Time that he spent being weak, being stagnant. Time that was wasted. And what would Dad say if he knew his son was slacking? He couldn't afford a moment's rest if he wanted to challenge the League any time soon, to get some damn respect - respect he considered he was damn deserving of.

"Oh, and I'd leave that tape on until the swelling's gone down. As for your Pokémon, they've all been rested and recovered, but I would perhaps let your Croagunk… what's her name, again?"

"Tomyris."

"Tomyris - I'd give her tomorrow off. Whatever happened there, it really took the wind out of her sails."

"...I see," replied a noticeably concerned Hawley, taking back his two Pokéballs.

"Is there anything else you need?"

"No."

"Well, you know where to find us! Have a good evening!"

Hawley nodded before turning to walk out of the Centre and into the evening sunlight that engulfed Jubilife - a place that he very much did not want to be at that moment. Were it not for his humiliating defeat earlier, he would have already gotten to Oreburgh and been on his way to challenging the gym. Instead, he was still stuck about six or seven hours down the road and in the same place as his two rivals - and those damn Pokétch clowns, too. It seemed like a shitty business model as a whole, honestly - give away free stuff and paying people to humiliate themselves? Who would fund that? Besides, he'd much rather have paid full price for a watch than have to put up with that nonsense.

It was with a weary sigh that he trundled through the streets of Jubilife, before finding the nearest bench and sinking into it, his thoughts beginning to bounce around in his brain.

 _I can't afford to let up now. I can't afford to slow down, not while Connor's out there with that Reyes. You're better than him, Hawley, and you damn well know it - no Wilkins would ever fall beneath such trash, or they're not fit to wear the name!_

His look had morphed into a frown, his fist clenching.

 _No, I need to kick it up a notch, work harder than ever. I can't get complacent now - I have to earn my strength, or I'm unfit to call myself a Wilkins. Without strength, you don't get respect - and I have to work for respect, just like my father… and I will, even if it kills me! With hard work and raw strength, I'll rise to the top!_

He gritted his teeth and arched his eyebrows, glaring at nothing in particular with burning fury.

 _I'll show them! I'll show those two chucklefucks, those damn gym leaders, the Elite Four, I'll show 'em all! Nobody makes a mockery of the son of the Sinnoh League Champion and gets away with it!_

* * *

 **Pokémon Stats - Bagon (nicknamed "Baggo")**

 **\- Trainer: Reyes Vasquez**

 **\- Male**

 **\- Type: Dragon**

 **\- Ability: Rock Head**

 **\- Level: 10**

 **HP: D (45)**

 **Attack: C (75)**

 **Defence: D (60)**

 **Special Attack: E (40)**

 **Special Defence: E (30)**

 **Speed: D (50)**

 ** _"Bagon is a species native to the Hoenn region, and is remarkable for its exceptionally strong skull. This species often makes its home in rocky environments and specimens have been observed leaping off cliffs in what can only be described as attempts at flight. Whilst obviously failing at this stage in their evolutionary cycle, they are remarkably resilient and due to the thickness of their skulls, they often survive - although this requires extraordinary strength in the neck muscles. Bagon are very territorial and aggressive species, and whilst this temperament makes them ideal for combat, it also leads to them becoming quite difficult for novices to tame."_**


	8. Breathe in the Air (1)

_**Disclaimer:** I don't own Pokémon (that belongs to Game Freak)_, _nor do I own the song "Breathe (In the Air)" by Pink Floyd, which this chapter is named after._

* * *

 _ **10:13 - October 11th, 2007 - 14 days until October 25th**_

After a mostly uneventful morning, Connor and Reyes departed Jubilife and set off on route to the city of Oreburgh.

Due to her erratic sleep schedule, the pair had missed Florence that morning, and decided to get breakfast before leaving, without waiting for her - due in no small part to Connor's reluctance to disturb the nurse as he had done yesterday. This meant that she couldn't check on Ronnie's progress and, as such, he wasn't as sure as he'd have liked to be on if the Aron's health; however, he seemed to be both well enough and rearing to fight, and so Connor decided that easing him back into fighting was probably the best idea.

"Connor, my man, you worry too much," opined Reyes as the two walked down Route 203. "You _did_ get enough sleep last night, didn't you?"

"Mm? Oh, yeah," said Connor, yawning.

"...What time did you go to sleep?"

"Same time as you."

"Which was…?"

"...Ten?" replied an unsure Connor after a pause, wearing a particularly terrible poker face.

"You stayed up until one again, didn't you?"

Reyes' tone was accusatory and his expression a concerned one as he spoke, and after mere seconds of pause, Connor crumbled, no longer keep up his ruse.

"I'm sorry! I was gonna, but you know I just don't sleep very well, and, uh-"

"Woah, woah," interjected Reyes, letting out a mildly concerned chuckle as he did so and holding up his hand to halt his friend. "It's fine, friend! I don't mean to tell you what you can and can't do, I'm just saying, it might be better for you, especially if you're having bad dreams. Besides, you can't really function too good on five or six hours of sleep."

Connor seemed a little forlorn as he spoke, blushing a little. "Right, yeah. Sorry."

"Don't worry about it! Stop apologising for everything, friend." Reyes' tone was noticeably more urgent, this chuckle sounding more like one of exasperation.

"S-sorry," replied the younger trainer, quickly realising what he had just done and biting his lower lip out of embarrassment, head hung low and eyes affixed to the ground. So flustered was he by the faux pas that he was unable to bring himself to correct it, instead choosing to remain silent.

A hush festered in the air as Reyes tended to the Gible in his arms, giving his companion the opportunity to stew over the events of the previous night. It was quite an odd night, as for the most part, it had been no different to the night before - the two had watched a few more episodes of Masked Rider (a show that Reyes seemed to be growing greatly invested in) and tried to get their Pokémon better acquainted with each other, which proved to be a decidedly more intricate game with Baggo than with Garra (as a matter of fact, him and Ronnie had enjoyed a swimming start to their friendship)... it was just that after that, things went awry.

* * *

Connor wasn't quite sure if what had happened was a dream or not. He was no stranger to uneasy dreams, having experienced them a fair bit throughout his childhood - something that his parents had always put down to his easily stressed nature. "Don't worry so much," and "you need to stop being so scared of everything," they'd say - they were probably right, considering the effect that the ups and downs of the past two days had had on him. Still, this didn't make the events of the night any easier to recall.

It must have been about four in the morning when Connor found himself conscious, suddenly drenched in sweat and unable to move. The first thing he did was try to reach for Ronnie's Pokéball to check on the Steel-type to make sure that he was okay. This is when things began to get a little strange. Despite his best efforts, nothing would give. It felt as though every muscle in his body had locked up. Connor could not even move his fingers an inch, no matter how hard he tried. Calling out Reyes' name was not possible either, as it felt his jaw had been screwed shut - every effort to make a sound was futile, and the only noise to be heard was the sound of weighted breaths leaving his lungs.

With the claws of sleep paralysis now firmly wrapped around him, things would only get worse. The next stage of this… this experience, for lack of a better word, saw three figures, completely eldritch in appearance, emerge from the blackness that surrounded him. The one to his left was the smallest and, in spite of its jaundice and empty crescent eyes, its wide yet indifferent grin or its skin as dark and blue as the midnight sea, the one Connor found himself least afraid of. Its long, slender body still loomed over him in silence regardless, thin arms holding onto his bedside and unfeeling face sneering at him.

The next apparition came into being shortly afterwards, this time to the boy's right. It was the largest of the trio, and the widest, cutting a deeply unpleasant figure over him. The monster wore black and white striped skin, featureless outside of bloodshot white eyes, pupils the size of spots with eyelids peeled back in glee; a toothy, crazed grin etched onto its face. Atop its head were two spikes, a coal-coloured halo of some sort surrounded it. It took rattling, heavy breaths, throwing its entire body into each exhalation. Deep purple wisps began to emanate around him as he leaned ever closer to a helpless Connor, absolutely reeking as he came nearer and nearer. He could do nothing except look on in dread as sweat bled from every pore, before the figure spoke in guttural tones.

"Heh heh… I'll get ya, you dumb kid. You and ya damn Aron. Wotsisname - Ronnie, ain't it? Heh. That's a stupid name from a stupid trainer. And it only took you a day to put 'im out of commission. It only took you a day for some snot-nosed kid to beat his ass. Poor Pokémon probably hates ya guts, wants ya to keel over and die so it can be free - I wouldn't blame it, neither. Couldn't imagine getting stuck with such a shitty trainer. You don't amount to nothin', boy, and ya won't ever amount to nothing in this world - look what this world did to _me_ , dammit! You ain't no match for it, and if ya think it won't chew you up and spit you out like other deadbeat trash trainers, you're sorely mistaken, so just give 'is Pokéball to me, and go home. Capiche?"

Connor took these words to heart. Whatever this manifestation was, it was right - first the Croagunk debacle, then getting Ronnie so beat up he was unable to fight for two days, all within his first hours of training? He was unfit to look after _any_ Pokémon. It probably would have been for the best to let him go if things kept up like this - as a matter of fact, Connor thought, letting him go in the morning would have been the kindest thing to do.

But… his Pokémon needed him, and it would have been selfish to just abandon him - and he sure as hell wasn't going to prove Hawley right just yet! No, he was going to be the trainer that Ronnie needed, the one he deserved!

But at the same time… what if he was hurting Ronnie? What if his Pokémon didn't want to be with him? What was the best thing to do-

"You're seriously thinkin' about it? Please!" The being was more assertive, harsher as it spoke again. "It's the kindest thing to do. Just hand 'im over, and I'll take better care of 'im than you ever could."

Whilst he was already quite shaken, beginning to feel as though he was beginning to suffocate as the pressure of one thousand convulsions and one million screams built up within him, neither of these deeply unwelcome visitors horrified him as much as the third. This one stood at the foot of his bed, further away from him than the others. He couldn't entirely make out where the darkness ended and this figure began, and at first, the only way he knew it was there was through the two thin yellow eyes that pierced the blackness, both on the same side of his face and squinted so hard that Connor swore they were about to burst from its head. They lay above an open mouth lined with white, sharp fangs. Pointed sanguine spikes lined its body, from head to whatever lay out of Connor's view.

Darting his eyes to the foot of his bed, he that the ghastly presence seemed to be rooted to the ground there. This did not stop it from moving towards him. The opposite, in fact. It twisted and writhed its slender body through the blank space that surrounded Connor with a growling, splitting laugh that seemed to come from the very core of its being as it did so.

"You can't get away from me, you worm," began the beast in a voice that was completely beyond description. "You think you are any match for me? You fool. You aren't even a speck - you are nothing, and you will never be anything more - not even to that friend of yours. Your parents were right, Connor. You should have stayed at home. But now? You have no hope, nobody in this cold, unfeeling world who cares about you… and now, I can eat you alive. And there's nothing you can do to stop me. There's nothing anyone can - or will - do to stop me."

The boy could feel its cold, lifeless breath on his face as it looked him in the eyes with a smile that screamed murder. It was as though it were some sort of two-dimensional serpent from another world as its form stood above Connor from head to toe, both of its awful little beady eyes stabbing into the fabric of his very being. There was absolutely nothing he could do to help himself, and instead could only struggle in vain to escape the suffocating glares of the beasts before him.

For a moment, he could only hear every single thud from his heart.

Time seemed to stand still.

The beasts before him arched their backs up.

They were ready to eat.

With a hiss, they pounced at Connor, and a scream erupted within his lungs-

" _-_ AAAAAA _AAAAAAAA_ _ **AAAAAAAAAGH!**_ "

Daylight.

"Connor! You alright?!" replied the voice from the bunk above him in an instant, accompanied by scrambling on the mattress and the creaking of bed springs.

He found himself upright and quaking with every breath, drenched in sweat as his heart pounded like a jackhammer. He darted his head to the clock hung on the wall opposite him. Five minutes past seven.

 _Wh… what just happened?_

He noticed Reyes' dark brown hair and dangling red headband in the peripheral of his vision, and turned his head to see his companion giving him a really rather worried (albeit upside down) look.

"Are you alright? Did you have a bad dream or something?"

Aside from his breathing, he was silent, trying to calm himself down before he replied. It took a few seconds before his breathing came to a steady nadir, the distressed heaving of his chest dwindling into more subdued breaths. Eventually, he was finally composed enough to reply in a coherent fashion.

"...Yeah. I'm fine. I think."

 _It was just a dream, Connor. Just a dream._

He kept telling himself both of these things - that he was fine, that it was just a dream. No matter how many times he kept repeating them, though, he just couldn't convince himself that either of those things were wholly true.

* * *

Connor was too embarrassed to tell Reyes exactly what happened last night - besides, he figured that he'd just be met with something along the lines of "you just need to have more confidence," something that was not exactly news to him - and instead just tried not to think about it. When Connor checked on Ronnie that morning, he seemed happy to see him, and he certainly didn't seem to reject his trainer's affection (in fact, the Aron was quite insistent on a good head rub). Perhaps it was just him being too worried about things, as per usual.

Besides, his priority for the day wasn't lingering on the events of the previous night. Instead, he'd set himself two objectives: getting to Oreburgh, and catching a second Pokémon. As such, with Ronnie plodding alongside him, he kept an eye on his surroundings as he went along, wading through tall grass.

 _Now, the Oreburgh Gym's a Rock-type gym, but Ronnie's a Steel-type, so I think I'll probably be good with type matchups - and having a Flying-type on my team might pay off in the long run, because I can use them for transport, so getting a Starly might be a good bet. At the same time, though… if I were to catch a Bidoof, they evolve into Bibarel, and Bibarel's supposed to be really good for utility because they can cut trees down, they can surf, they can get through rock-_

"Connor, watch out!"

"Wh-"

Reyes' call snapped Connor back to reality just long enough for him to dodge out of the way of a swooping Starly, the Flying-type narrowly missing both him and his Aron and instead crashing into the ground.

"Oh, sorr- er... I mean, a Pokémon!" exclaimed the trainer, feeling proud of his save. Off the bat, he noticed that the Starly was a male, judging by the enlarged top of the white mask on its head. It was a little smaller than Starly usually were, too - most pressingly, though, some of the feathers on its right wing seemed to be burnt away a little. White, bone-like structures slightly protruded from blackened feathers. The burns weren't terrible, but their mere presence was still a worry.

This proved tricky for Connor, as the Starly clearly needed help - he was young and, judging by his wing injury and him swooping headfirst into the ground, couldn't fly right. However, as the Pokémon postured up to Ronnie, Connor recognised that he also wasn't going to be caught without a fight, as one was inevitable whether against him or Ronnie, and he didn't fancy getting his fingers pecked away at by an angry bird, and a bird that risked injuring its wing further if it lashed out while he tried to hold it. The best option was to try and weaken it a little until it could be caught.

"Hey, Reyes?" asked Connor, turning to his friend, who stopped in his tracks and faced him. "Would you mind waiting behind for a minute? I'm gonna need to catch this little guy and take him in to the Center in Oreburgh."

"Sure! Go ahead!" said a smiling Reyes in response, carefully looking for a clean tree to lean his longcoat-wearing self against.

"Thank you!"

Connor turned back to the unfolding scene before him. The Starly was posturing even more aggressively towards Ronnie, puffing himself up and spreading his wings as far as he could (in the case of his right wing, this was not very far) in an effort to make himself seem as big as he could. The fact that he hadn't attacked the Aron yet gave Connor a good reason to believe that he wasn't the Flying-type's priority. Ronnie, meanwhile, had narrowed his eyes and begun to let out a low-pitched growl, standing his ground and refusing to let his opponent pass.

This Pokémon was a rather feisty one, it seemed, but him didn't seem as interested in attacking Ronnie as it did him; the prospect of the Pokémon having problems with people was an inconvenient one, sure, but this was still a Pokémon that was in need of help - _and what sort of person,_ Connor thought, _would I be if I didn't provide that help?_

In his final seconds of thought before the start of the battle, he realised he had two concerns: one, that his goal was not to knock the Starly out as much as it was to subdue it so that it could be captured without much resistance; two, under no circumstances could he attack its right wing.

First of all, the Starly likely had the speed advantage here - as such, attacking first wasn't the safest bet when he could just dodge out of the way. "Alright, Ronnie! First of all, you're gonna wanna Harden!"

Crying an affirmative, the Aron exerted its effort into strengthening its metallic outer coat, prompting the Starly to try and peck at his head. Beak barely impacted head in a move that was almost entirely futile due to Ronnie's physical defences and Steel/Rock-typing.

Connor noticed that the Starly's talons were dug into the ground, giving him an idea. "Next of all, give him your toughest Headbutt - but keep your head at his chest!"

Ronnie nodded once again, preparing himself for a moment before propelling his thick skull at Starly's crest. The Flying-type let out a startled and decently pained cry as its head snapped backwards, resting on his foe's thick, metallic and unmoving head in anger. Lacking the power to budge Ronnie's head an inch, he resorted to slapping him with his good wing, which mostly unscathed him.

All was good so far for Connor - he had both Ronnie and the Starly right where he wanted, and if he acted fast enough, the injured Pokémon would have no means of escape. "Now, while your head's still there, Tackle him - and keep going until you're against a tree!"

Slowly but surely, Ronnie made his advance, driving his head harder and harder into Starly's midsection and moving straight ahead in determined silence. The Starly began to unleash a flurry of panicked pecking and flapping as he realised he could do very little to stop this - he talons created marks on the ground as they were dragged along, and removing them was no easy feat; even if he managed to, he couldn't fly away with his wing in the shape it was. Slowing or stopping Ronnie was getting less and less likely as the tree came nearer and nearer, too, as the already mostly ineffective pecks and flaps were rendered useless further by Ronnie's hardened state.

Connor didn't get much enjoyment out of this as he did relief. He was thankful that he didn't have to put the Starly in as much discomfort as he'd first thought, and he reckoned that with another well-placed Headbutt from Ronnie once he was cornered, the Starly wouldn't be able to put up much in the way of resistance to a ball. Not only that, but it went some way to assuring Connor that the "dream" of the previous night was just that - a dream. His Pokémon seemed perfectly happy following his command, and was willing to put up with a few pecks and wing slaps here and there for him… of course, there was always the chance that that was Ronnie being territorial and acting out of self-defence _\- snap out of it, Connor, and let yourself have this!_

The Starly was already quite exhausted by the time Ronnie's march finished with a shunt into the uneven bark of a tree trunk, the breath forced from his lungs. That didn't mean he was ready to go down just yet, though - far from it. Sure, he may have had a disadvantage in experience, moveset, current position, ability to attack, ability to defend, health, strategy, and amount of intact limbs, but to a ticked off bird, that didn't matter in the slightest. As Ronnie reared himself backwards to prepare for a headbutt, it laid its focus on the Aron's trainer. The human. All he needed was a good, clear shot at his face, a few jabs of the beak, and that was that over with. But he didn't have much of a window.

Ronnie's head was coming closer and closer.

This was his chance to get away!

The steely head of his foe rammed towards him...

...as he prepared to take flight…

...closer and closer…

...he launched himself into the air…

...and he was off…

...until his burnt wing gave in in an instant, and he crashed into the grass, unmoving.

Before he even had time to properly register his failure, Connor decided that keeping this fight up any longer would have just been cruel. With an overarm throw, he hurled a Pokéball at the defeated Flying-type as the Starly lay on the ground, the capturing device bouncing once before emitting a beam of light that engulfed it.

It wobbled once, as Connor watched on, anxious.

It wobbled again, with Ronnie plodding towards it cautiously.

It wobbled for a third time, Reyes paying close attention to it.

 _Click._

Connor shouldn't have been as overjoyed as he was, he felt; considering it was an injured and underlevelled Starly, it was hardly an earth-shattering victory. Furthermore, it seemed to hate his guts - there was always the possibility that it just hated humans in general - he was a little worried that he wouldn't be able to look after it adequately, or that its injuries were worse than they first seemed, and he'd end up having to give the Pokémon to a rescue at a Center. But at the same time… he'd caught his first Pokémon, all on his own. He'd proven to himself that he could do it - he was on his way to being the trainer he hoped he could be, and he wasn't about to let a poorly wing get in the way of giving this Starly a good home.

Sheer joy coursed through every inch of his body as his face lit up like a firework, his legs running as fast as they could carry him as he rushed to pick up his capture and fell into a knee slide through the grass, pumping his arm in glee. Ronnie plodded on towards him in anticipation of a head rub, and was caught completely off guard when a cheering Connor wrapped his arms around the Steel-type, hugging him as tightly as he could.

"Great job, Ronnie! I couldn't have done it without you, buddy!" exclaimed the boy, petting his little metal companion in delight. He completely forgot for a moment that Ronnie weighed upwards of one hundred and thirty pounds, and his ill-judged attempt to lift him up completely failed, but he couldn't have cared less at that moment.

Reyes came to his feet and approached the pair, finding the sight of the Aron nuzzling his trainer's chest impossible to not crack a smile at. "Nice going, you two! Connor, have you thought of a name for your new friend?"

Connor turned to Reyes, beaming like a madman. In all honesty, he had been too preoccupied to think of a name, but that had been at the bottom of his list of priorities. He had to divert his attention from squeezing the cold steely mass in his arms as tightly as he could for a moment as the cogs of his brain whirred, thinking up a good moniker for his new (possibly temporary) companion.

"...Byrne, I think," he replied, recalling the Starly's injury. "I'll call him Byrne."

"Not a bad choice," said Reyes, "not bad at all. Do you want to get yourself, uh... what's the word - acquainted? Or shall we keep going?"

Connor thought about this, smiling at Ronnie's adoring, wide as the moon eyes as he glanced past them, looking down at the quaking ball on his belt before responding. "I would, but he's not really a happy camper at the moment, I don't think. I'll wait until he's not _as_ keen to take my fingers off," he said with a chuckle.

"Fair enough. I'm ready when you are, then."

Using his free hand to properly slot Byrne's Pokéball back into his holder, he gave Ronnie a final rub of the head before getting back to his feet, looking at his little metal partner with a nod and a smile. Ronnie returned the gesture, and with that, Connor and Reyes continued onto Oreburgh, Pokémon in tow.

* * *

It hadn't been an easy day for Hawley.

He should have been in the mines at Oreburgh by now, or at the very least outside of Jubilife. Yet here he was, stuck in Jubilife. Tomyris, his leading Pokémon, was still recovering from yesterday, and he had had to cut his attempt at crossing Route 203 when Clausewitz got too injured to fight any further - Hawley had no potions on hand at that moment, and had to retreat back to Jubilife's Pokémon Center. The nurse - who, thankfully, was a different one from yesterday, and as such didn't give him an earful about the whole "no training" thing - patched up those injuries, but Hawley was in no mood to head out again. Not with a splitting headache. Besides, it had just gone four in the afternoon, and it would have been past midnight by the time he got to Oreburgh.

As he walked along the streets of Jubilife to clear his mind a little, he saw something in the window of an electronics shop and stopped to survey it. He had no interest in some second-rate romcom; rather, his focus was on his own face. His sleep the previous night was shortened by disappointment over that day's events, and it showed in his angered expression and baggy eyes. These were not, as the soulless actor on the screen said as part of some garish joke, "come to bed" eyes as much as they were "I will kill you with an axe" eyes. Whilst Hawley didn't consider this a particularly eloquent turn of phrase, it was a good reflection of his current mood. To him, the day had been squandered; it was a write-off, a failure. He wasn't quite sure it could have gotten any worse as he continued on down the streets.

What he hadn't considered was the possibility of someone reaching into his pocket and making off with Tomyris' Pokéball, which is exactly what happened.

"Motherf- HEY!" he screamed, letting Clausewitz loose as the thief sprinted off. He and his Shinx snarled as the pair bolted down the street, the sound of Hawley's heavy boots echoing through the sparse street with the vigour of a herd of stampeding Tauros. Just who did this piece of scum, this worthless pile of refuse, think he was, running off with Tomyris - his Pokémon, and his _friend_ \- like that? And did he expect to get out of this in one piece? It would be a cold day in hell before that happened, and Hawley was going to make sure of it!

Most passers-by merely walked on, trying not to let this chaos distract them from going about their day; some shot bewildered looks at the scene as they walked on. Some had to dodge out of the way of either the thief or the five-foot-ten juggernaut and his little blue companion that charged after him, with an unlucky few being barged out of the path of the red-haired wrecking ball by force. The ballyhoo was inescapable, though, as the chase continued down the long and narrow streets of Jubilife, with Hawley slowly gaining ground on the thief with each sharp turn.

One place that was yet to be sucked into the commotion was the Grind House Tearoom, a café that hosted one very tired man with bleach white hair by the name of Julius. He had been up until the early hours of the morning with work issues, and with the way his day was going now, it seemed this would be happening again. As such, he had taken this time, the only real break from work he was to enjoy that day, to get some coffee; black with no cream, just the way he liked it. It was a pleasant way to relax after the events of the previous days, with work being strenuous as ever and him getting involved with that thief situation with those two boys.

"Stop running, you turd! Or I'll ram this boot so far up your ass you'll taste leather!"

Of course, this all changed with the sight of a man clad in black fumbling a Pokéball into his pocket, a screaming young man in a dark green jacket storming down the street in pursuit. This young man, in particular, was one Julius recognised from a Pokémart a couple of days ago, putting someone in quite the painful situation for something similar to this, which led him to believe that he could clearly handle himself; nevertheless, it seemed as though he was having some trouble catching up with this fellow, this criminal who had wronged him.

With a sigh, he took another sip of his coffee before dragging himself to his feet, placing the cup in the bin (the plastic recycling one, of course) before taking off in pursuit.

Around the corner, meanwhile, Hawley's vision began to blur a little as a metaphorical hammer banged against his head, his broken nose causing him a great deal of distress. He was beginning to lose sight of the thief as he turned the street corner, and with him, Tomyris - who, despite knowing for only a very short time, was someone he was proud to consider his closest companion, and with whom he'd already been through some good times and some bad times. Losing her absolutely wasn't an option - who would he have to vent to in his loneliest hours? Who would he show to his father as his star Pokémon, his pride and joy, when he took on the League some months down the line? Who would he have to terrorise Connor with?

In a last-ditch effort, as his legs began to slow down, he called out to Clausewitz in a burst of rage. "We're not… letting him... _get away!_ " he declared, through deep breaths in and out. "Thunderbolt him! Aim for his pocket!"

"Shaaa!" came the reply from his companion.

So caught up was Hawley in this exchange, though, that he failed to notice the loud clang of a can of garbage against the floor a few seconds prior, and while his anger was enough to keep him running, it wasn't enough to help him spot either the overturned can or its spilt contents. As a result, his shin banged against the metal can, tripping him over and sending him tumbling to the ground with a pained yelp. A violent arc of electricity shot out of Clausewitz's tail in the meantime with a zap, but it fell short of its target, and the thief was on the verge of escaping.

The thief's tone was a triumphant one as he kept running. "Kahah! Serves ya right, asshole! Nobody fights back against the Jubilife mob and gets away with- oof!"

Unfortunately for him, though, he failed to spot the lamppost in front of him.

The force of the impact was enough to force him to pause and rub his head in anguish, bringing him to a halt just long enough for Clausewitz to catch up to him and get a better shot with a second, more successful Thunderbolt. The electricity coursed through him, his nerves ringing in agony as his nervous system went berserk, each of his muscles contracting and spasming on and off, as his body thrashed on the floor in shouts of agony.

Hawley's expression shifted from one of disgust and self-contempt into one of delight, his eyes still stinging as they lit up with glee when he sprung to his feet and launched himself at the incapacitated thief and his stolen Pokéball, not even bothering to wipe the grime picked up from the fall off his clothes as he made a swoop for the ball.

"Stop, thie-"

He turned around to see a man in a shirt and tie at the other end of the empty street, his tired face visibly quite surprised as his posture eased. He let his pointing arm down to his side and approached the scene, showing his palms to communicate that he wasn't a threat.

"I've got him!" hollered back Hawley. "Back off!"

The reply was tinged with a modest little laugh. "It's quite alright, I don't mean any harm."

Squinting in suspicion, Hawley grabbed his Pokéball before standing back up. Clausewitz fluffed himself up to make his presence known to this intruder as he and his trainer cautiously approached to meet him.

The two faced each other from a shorter distance, as Julius spoke. "You were the one from the Pokémart a few days ago, weren't you?"

"Eh?" replied Hawley, stopping when he was a couple of feet away.

"A couple of days ago, in the Pokémart. Someone tried to steal something from you, and you knocked them out. That was you, wasn't it? Or am I just-"

"No, that was me. What about it?" Hawley was interrogative in tone as he replied, his nostrils flared and eyebrow raised as though someone had just threatened to shoot him.

"I see. What's your name, young man?"

"Don't call me young man, asshole!" demanded Hawley in a shout, shooting a finger towards the man.

Julius was quite taken aback by his sudden outburst, and could only reply with an "Oh, my apologies."

"Anyway, why should I tell you? If anything, you should tell _me_ who _you_ are first."

He put on his warmest smile and rather gingerly offered his hand to Hawley. "My name is Julius," he said, "and I ask because you seem like quite a promising y- er, trainer. You've been doing this for how long?"

Julius' slip up flew under Hawley's radar, masked by the compliment - a compliment at which he couldn't help but crack a smile at. Finally, it seemed, he was getting some respect. "A few days. Started this week. Why?" was his response, as was accepting Julius' offer of a handshake (which, he noted, was surprisingly limp).

"I see. Care to walk and talk?"

Hawley decided he didn't really have anywhere better to be, and given his judgement on his ability, figured that this guy probably knew what he was talking about. Still, just in case he was a creep of some sort, it didn't hurt to be too careful. "Sure, I guess. Clausewitz, follow us."

His companion chirped in affirmation, and so the trio began to walk.

"Your nose - that's a recent development, I assume?" asked Julius, reminding Hawley of the bandage on it. "Was it there a few days ago?"

"No, it wasn't," he replied, looking at the ground as he walked.

"I see. Care to tell me what happened?"

Hawley had to restrain himself from asking, in strongly worded terms, if he suddenly had a therapist now before he could respond. "I got into a fight."

"Did you start it?"

"N- well, I didn't _escalate_ it, but yeah. It was just a Pokémon battle at first, though. I had to do it to 'em."

Julius gave him a dubious look. "Did you, though?"

"Of course! They made eye contact with me, and this kid - oh, I've known him for a while; he had it coming, let me tell you."

Julius recalled his conversation with Connor a couple of days ago, and figured that "this kid" was probably him. He seemed like a nice enough boy, and not someone who would resort to physical violence - let alone win at it - which prompted him to press the matter further. "Why did it escalate, then?"

"Look, you wouldn't get - ach, just drop it, okay?!" snapped Hawley.

"I mean, you must have done something to upset him to make him resort to attacking you."

"It was his friend that punched me, if you must know," coldly retorted the boy, "but I really don't see why you can't drop this."

"If you must know," said Julius, "it's because, as I said, you seem like a very promising young trainer. Someone with a lot of potential - I mean, both times I've come across you, you've managed to put down some sort of unreputable character by yourself. I've no doubt you and your Pokémon, that Shinx and the one you've just reclaimed, could go on to do great things someday."

Hawley felt a sense of pride rush over him as he replied. "Thank you, but I don't see-"

"The key word there is 'could.' Before you move onto these great things, you need to work on your attitude first. You can have all the raw talent in the world - and in your case, it seems you do - but it won't amount to much if you misuse it. Why do you think you got your nose broken?"

"Simple, his Pokémon were stronger than mine-"

"No, it was because you attacked someone when you had no need to. Whatever your reasoning was for it, it was clearly flawed if it led you into a situation you could not win. Once again, I've no doubt you can become one of the best, but you can't go around attacking people and not expect to be punished for it - you need to sort your mindset out and put that talent into something better, or you'll fall behind people who've spent less of their energy on hate and violence without reason, and more on helping those around them - and, as a result, helping themselves."

"Oh, don't preach to-"

"I understand this may sound like preaching, but think of, say, the parable of the gods of time and space. As incredibly powerful as Giratina was - with its two forms, some would argue more so than Dialga and Palkia - you only need to look at how it used its powers to see why it was banished to another realm, whereas its colleagues, who used those powers for a net positive, are revered as the rulers of time and space over all of us."

Considering this for a moment, Hawley vaguely nodded in understanding. As completely uninterested in religion as he was, he did see his point.

"Of course, as much as I believe in the gods, I still think organized religion is a bit of a sham. But it's still a valid message - even having all the power in the world means nought if one doesn't accomplish much for the good of the world, don't you think?"

"...Aye."

Julius glanced down at the rather worn watch on his wrist. "I should probably be going, now, because I need to get back to work. But please, do consider what I said - it would be a real shame to see such talent going to waste. I'm not saying that you go and become a monk or anything like that; rather, I'm just proposing that you be a little kinder to your fellow man, and try to stay out of fights if they help nobody in the long run."

Hawley contemplated what the man said, before looking back at him. "I think I get you…?"

"If you want to contact me, you can always find me at the GERECHT building, alright?" replied Julius as he walked away with a smile and a wave.

As he went off on his own, Hawley thought about the conversation he had just had. Of course, he still believed he was right to attack Connor - he still had to show that kid who was boss, after all; besides, after that whole ordeal all those years ago, he still had it coming. _A Wilkins never forgets,_ he thought. He wasn't about to let that Reyes figure off the hook easily, either. He was no better than Hawley, hitting him when he was unable to defend himself properly like that - at least _he_ knew when to stop.

However, at the same time, what Julius said, about those who use their talents to help others being remembered as the good, weighed on his mind. After all, as the saying went, "good always triumphs over evil" - a statement from which Hawley inferred that good was always stronger than evil, and as such if he wasn't winning, he was on the side of evil. It began to click for him - if he helped the community and perhaps forged his own circle of friend, then the community would help him in return, and both he and his friends would support each other in rising up the food chain.

If he was to do his old man proud, rise to the top and carry on the pride of the Wilkins name, perhaps it wouldn't have hurt to have people who he could support, and who he could, in turn, challenge him and help him improve.

But who?

This train of thought whirred on in Hawley's head as he took a seat on a nearby bench, releasing Tomyris from her Pokéball and carefully looking her over, trying to hide his anxiety on the matter. Something about her usually passive stare worried him - she seemed a little shaken, her eyebrows arched and smile noticeably forced.

"Are you alright?" he asked, unable to properly mask the concern in his voice. "You still a little upset about the whole ordeal, eh?"

Met with high-pitched croaks, he gently rubbed the top of his companion's head and mumbled reassurances at her as he cast his mind back to his youth. One person stood out to him - the one who had that Pokémon, who was a couple of years older than him and was always down to show that damn Connor who was boss.

Ah, yes, him - Kurt, his name was. The two hadn't spoken in a while, but Hawley recalled that they were on good terms. A little quieter and more reserved in his actions that he was, but just as capable. As a matter of fact, considering the gap in experience he was probably more capable than Hawley was - not a bad place to learn from. And that Pokémon of his… Larvantrum? Larvitar? Something along those lines - whatever it was, it was probably quite the beast these days. Rock-type, too, if he recalled - perhaps with his and Tomyris' help, he could get some practice against fighting-types and, in time, overcome the type disadvantage.

If, Hawley thought, he needed to be good in order to be truly strong, and he had to be good by helping those around him, then with the way his journey had gone so far it was no wonder he was so easily thrashed by Reyes. But that was soon to change, of course, when Hawley got his ass in gear and started doing something for the community as a whole to show that he was strong - and that started with being a positive influence on some friends. That'd surely get the ball rolling that sent him to the top, after all.

* * *

 **Pokémon Stats - Starly (nicknamed "Byrne")**

 **\- Trainer: Connor Murdoch (temporarily)**

 **\- Male**

 **\- Type: Normal/Flying**

 **\- Ability: Reckless**

 **\- Level: 7**

 **HP: E (40)**

 **Attack: D (55)**

 **Defence: E (30)**

 **Special Attack: E (30)**

 **Special Defence: E (30)**

 **Speed: D (60)**

 _ **"Starly tend to hang around in flocks, and when isolated are decidedly below average in combat prowess - they aren't very large, nor are they particularly sturdy, either. Due to the species' historic proximity to humans and resulting acclimatisation towards us, and their vast abundance near Jubilife and Oreburgh, they are a very common pick for starter or second** **Pokémon - and when cared for properly, they are very amicable companions. It is telling that in Ranger-dominated regions such as Almia, Starly is the most common pick for partner**_ _ **Pokémon. However, it must be noted to any trainers looking to own one of these that they are very loud and, for lack of a better word, opinionated; they can become rather hostile and show undesirable behaviours if their needs are not met, and, as a result, it is an unfortunate fact that Starly are also quite commonly abandoned**_ _ **Pokémon**_ _ **."**_


	9. Breathe in the Air (2)

**_18:55 - 11th October, 2007 - 14 days until October 25th_**

* * *

Dear _Professor..._

Connor's attention was firmly fixed upon the dimly lit LED of his Pokédex as it shone in his face, illuminating it in the dark of Oreburgh Gate. Connor had never liked caves, in all honesty; something his mining dad would always bemoan. Sure, he could deal with the dark, no problem. It was when said dark was vast, completely empty and rolling in all directions like an endless ocean, full of unseen monsters and unknown terrors that it became a problem. He knew it was a dumb thing to be afraid of, and having Ronnie plodding alongside him was some help. It still did little to quell the fear of not knowing what lay around the corner.

In reality, most of the time, the only thing that was around said corner was an angry Zubat or two; something that had happened a fair few times on their short expedition through the cave. An annoyance, sure, but nothing that the pair and their Pokémon couldn't handle.

He decided that the introduction he had so far wouldn't work. It was too formal, and after all, he would insist on being called Murphy. It had to be changed.

 _Dear Murphy,_

 _I am writing to you to inform you…_

No, that didn't seem quite right, either. Too stuffy.

 _I'm just letting you know…_

That didn't work, either - Connor felt such a tone didn't match the content of his email.

 _Just wanted to tell you that…_

"Connor? Hello? Is there anybody ho-ooooome?"

Connor jerked in shock as Reyes' voice brought him back to reality, a panicked "Gah!" leaving his mouth as he looked up - a sound that was loud enough to prompt an astonished yelp from Ronnie, and in turn made Connor rush to cover his mouth with his free hand. The sounds reverberated off the rocky walls of the apparently barren cave, unanswered echoes lingering in the dank air for a couple of beats. Once the hush settled, the boy huffed and puffed for a moment as he corrected his stance, making doubly-sure his Pokédex wasn't harmed before replying in a strained whisper. "You spooked me!"

"Ah, I didn't mean to startle you, friend. My bad," was Reyes' reply, his voice subdued and closer to a whisper than usual.

A hangdog look adorned Connor's face as he responded, feeling as though he had caused offence to his companion. "Oh, it's fine, uh - p-please don't worry about it," he said.

"Are you still having trouble with that message?"

Glancing back at the screen and checking if he had accidentally edited anything (he hadn't), Connor looked over the greeting and half of a line he had so far. "Yeah."

"Hmm. What is it you're not finding so good?"

"I just… I'm not sure how to start this, is all."

Reyes considered this for a moment, resting his finger and thumb on his chin as he hummed deep in thought. "Well, how do you _want_ to start it?"

"I don't know..." the boy sighed, tapping his fingers on the edges of the Pokédex like the beat of a drum to ease his nerves. "I… would it be stupid to start it all formal?"

Reyes moved a hand towards Connor's shoulder to try and calm him; the boy recoiled in response, however, and he quickly recalled his friend's stance on being touched. An uncomfortable quiet lingered for a moment before Reyes cleared his throat and continued.

"I... don't think it would be stupid to start it in any way, really, friend. Who're you writing it to?"

"The professor."

"Professors tend to be pretty uptight dudes, I suppose, so I say make it formal. If you're telling him about Byrne, then don't poke around the eyes, go straight ahead and tell him!"

"Poke around the eyes…?"

"Oh, you know."

Connor didn't, but nevertheless thought he got the gist of what was being said (well, that and he would have felt guilty for questioning such an expression). He'd try and be upfront to Murphy about Byrne, then - before he could keep on writing, though, a sliver of sunset from the far end of the tunnel illuminated his face. Figuring that now was probably a good time to take a break, he slid the screen of the Pokédex back over its keyboard with a _click_ and placed it back in his jacket pocket, carefully zipping it up.

"Rrrr…"

It took Connor a glance in the direction of the noise to figure that this growling, like that of a quiet motorcycle engine, came from an arched up Ronnie, who seemed to be a little more on edge than usual. Noticing that he seemed to be scouting the area with narrowed eyes, he guessed that it was probably safe to get closer to his little metal companion to figure out the issue. Meanwhile, Reyes and Baggo, who had been kind enough to only attack his trainer's ankles twice that day, were put on alert.

It took a moment for Connor to pick up on the sound of heavy boots from behind and his heart almost stopped, the panic button having well and truly been pressed. Surely, not him again…?

"Oi!"

The gravelly voice boomed around the tunnel, reverberating off every wall and filling the air, broadcasting itself to what felt like everyone in a 500-foot radius. At the very least, Connor noted, it wasn't Hawley's voice - he just hoped that it wasn't calling out to him.

"You! With the Aron!"

 _Cripes._

The tunnel was lit in a fading orange hue just enough for the features of the man approaching them to be visible. Easily as tall as Reyes, he was a rugged man, wide in frame, over his smile he wore a brown beard of thick foliage, debris from a hastily eaten bowl of cereal tangled in it.

Connor felt as though the most intense spotlight conceivable shone on him at that very moment, and it showed as a choke built up in his throat. "Wh- uh, m-me?"

Perplexed at the boy's reaction and a little mortified, the hiker's tiny eyes opened in surprise as he let out an affable laugh. "Yes, you! Don't worry, I don't mean any harm - just wonderin' if ye'd be down for a wee battle, is all!"

The atmosphere had definitely thawed a little, with Ronnie's grumbling now considerably more muted and marine eyes much less hostile. Reyes, meanwhile, decided to compensate for his colleague's timid response with a beaming mouth, diverting his attention from Baggo - who looked as though he was about to attack the hiker himself any moment now - as much as was safe to do so in order to wave at the hiker, moving a little closer to him.

"Hey, compadre! My friend here's not really a people person, just to let you know, and he's got somewhere he's needing to be - I can battle if you'd like, but-"

"Ah, do ye, pal? If that's the case, I shan't keep you if you don't want, but I'm just a wee bit curious about that Aron. Ya don't really see many of 'em in Sinnoh, and to be honest I've always had a soft spot for the buggers, really."

Flattered as he was, the situation didn't seem one hundred percent safe to Connor. After all, would someone he hadn't even met before really take such a sharp interest in him with no ulterior motive? Sure, battling fellow trainers one hadn't met before was a vital part of the trainer experience, and Ronnie was a pretty neat Pokémon, but was there something Connor wasn't picking up on that made either him or his Pokémon particularly interesting? Or perhaps he was just being dumb and getting himself worried over nothing - _as per usual,_ he thought.

"Kind of you, but we really should be going somewhere. We've an injured Pokémon to save, after all," replied Reyes.

The hiker grew more desperate. "Well, it'll only be right quick, I swear, and I need a bit of experience for that gym; I'm sure we both do, eh, lad? I'll even throw in an HM I don't need - eh, Rock Smash, I think it is?"

As much as he hated it, Connor's mind could not drag itself away from the possibility that this guy was some sort of creep who was going to steal his Pokémon or beat him up, or something along those lines. It just didn't seem reasonable to him that this stranger was only interested in seeing his Pokémon.

 _Ever the optimist, aren't you, Connor?_

"Well, I don't think it is fair that I don't let my friend decide for himself. Connor, what do you say?"

Reyes' question pushed Connor's panic button. He dreaded that things apparently just couldn't go off without a hitch - and whilst saying no would have been impolite, he feared the possibility of this man running off with Ronnie, or killing him, or just generally being some sort of creep.

He filled his lungs and took a long breath out.

 _Relax and get a hold of yourself!_

Weighing it up, he realised - Rock Smash was a move that would likely come in very handy against Roark. Was he really willing to let that go, just because this man was potentially a creep? That'd be moronic - there was nothing to be afraid of, after all; not with Reyes right behind him, and much less likely to let him get abducted this time.

"Alright, I can do that. Bring it on!"

He stood up straight and wore a new-found mask of confidence as he replied, suddenly feeling invincible. Nothing he, or anyone else, could think, say, or do could break that spirit!

 _But what if he does and you get killed?_

Except from that.

As every single muscle in his face dropped and his determined smile morphed into a panicked gasp, he thought about taking his affirmation back. But it was too late for that, though; the hiker was already reaching into one of his pockets to dig out a Pokéball. Connor feared the worst as he looked towards Reyes with the look of someone facing a firing squad.

Just what had he gotten himself into? What sort of terrible, horrible, no good, very bad fate awaited him?

"Right, Rocky! Let's go!" said the hiker as his Pokéball bounced off the rocky ground. It released what Connor recognised as a Geodude - a floating, jagged rock with thin arms and a ticked off look upon its face, posturing with all the intimidating presence of a deflating beach ball. Possibly one with angry eyes doodled on it.

 _Oh._

Connor felt almost underwhelmed, as a wave of relief washed over him - in all honesty, when he properly thought about it, he almost felt a little silly for getting himself so worked up.

"Uh… Ronnie, start with a Metal Claw!"

"Rocky, go at 'em with a Tackle!"

Almost.

As he watched the pair charge at each other, he mulled this over. On paper, it seemed easy enough. Geodude - a Rock and Ground-type, he recalled, who didn't really learn many Ground moves at lower levels; physically, quite tough - however, so was Ronnie, who was more agile and had access to Metal Claw, a super effective move.

None of this loosened the knot that wrung in his stomach, though, as the sound of heavy plodding filled the air and the pair drew nearer and nearer to each other.

Nearer and nearer.

Nearer and nearer.

Connor conceded that "charge" may not have been the best term to describe whatever was going on. Rocky was a Geodude, after all, and not a Starly; as such, neither party had the pace to make up the distance between them with much haste.

The sound of heavy plodding filled the air as the two inched ever nearer.

"Is everything so slow in Sinnoh?" called out a perplexed Reyes.

Finally, after a good fifteen seconds, the two were in striking range. Connor found himself with his thumbnail in between his teeth, nibbling away in sheer anxiety - what if this hiker had some sort of trick up his sleeve? Oh, what if this was another Hawley situation? Had he gone and gotten Ronnie roughed up _again_?

With a soft clang, Rocky bumped his head into Ronnie's metallic outer shell. It was as though an underpaid postman had knocked on him, he was so unfazed, and now it was his turn to reply. He raised one sharpened, stubby front leg and brought it down upon Rocky with all his torque, leaving a nasty bruise.

"Geeeraaaaaaah!"

The attack drew an anguished screech from Rocky, and the plucky little rock was reduced to a quivering heap of rubble in an instant, his guard completely shattered.

In spite of this, and the stunned gasp forced its way out of the hiker's mouth, Connor still found himself being eaten away at.

"Quick, Ronnie, another Metal Claw!"

There was absolutely no way, he thought, that it was really going to be so easy. Surely there was something he had missed, some hair-brained mistake he had made, and he was merely being lulled into a false sense of security? He watched on, barely able to stop his nails going into his mouth as an icy shroud of dread descended upon him.

As such, it was a great shock to him when Ronnie's second attack descended upon the Geodude without interruption, the harsh screeching of metal cutting into Rocky's jagged epidermis going through Connor as his defences were torn through. He was left sprawling on the ground, unmoving, unconscious and with a nasty cut above one eye.

Silence fell upon the palpable scene for a few moments.

Silence that was broken by the sound of Reyes clapping and cheering, a fist raised in the air.

"Alright! Nice going, Connor!"

He'd done it. He'd won his first trainer battle.

Free from dread's frosty grip, he couldn't stop a jaunty grin creeping from ear to ear despite his best efforts. Fireworks went off in his eyes as he approached Ronnie with urgency in his movement and a spring in his step; in turn, his Pokémon let out a pleased chirp and dawdled towards him, rubbing against his leg in glee. Connor replied to this by dropping to his knees and wrapping his arms against Ronnie for the second time that day. "Good job, boy!" he said, his voice squeaky with joy. "I'm proud of you!"

"Rrrrrrr!"

As he hugged Ronnie, he got to thinking that he was perhaps being too cautious, too anxious about everything. Thinking about it, it was silly to have gotten so worried about things. Silly to have put such little faith in himself, and silly to do the same for Ronnie. Perhaps, he thought, he was better than he gave himself credit for - as a matter of fact, the more he thought, the more he considered it absurd that he thought a battle against a Pokémon who was both at a typing and level disadvantage to his was unwinnable.

 _Your parents were right,_ he'd been told last night, _you should have just stayed at home._ _You have no hope. You aren't fit to be a trainer. The world's just going to chew you up and spit you out._

Those were just voices in his head. Mean, stupid voices in his head. Voices that were wrong. He was good enough, and if he ever dared tell himself otherwise again, he'd… he'd… he'd kick his own butt!

"Good work, laddie!"

Looking up at the huge frame of the hiker, he saw a wide smile shine at him behind that tangled mess of a beard and a clean silver disc from an outstretched hand shimmer at him. Three hundred and fifty Pokédollars, by his count, were also in that hand. "Ye've earned it!"

Regaining his composure after seeing the sight of such a large hand so close to him, he released Ronnie from his grasp and got back to his feet. While he would have appreciated this guy respecting his personal space, it would have been inappropriate to point that out now - besides, he was sincerely grateful for the gift, and held his hands out for it.

"Oh, eh… you can just take it… ah… theeere you are," said the hiker as he fumbled the disc into Connor's hands with a decided lack of elegance. "That there is a move called Rock Smash, laddie - the law says you're not permitted to use it outside of battles until ye've got one gym badge… I think that's to do with needing to prove you're responsible enough with Pokémon to not damage the environment? I dunno, the government's weird - but anyway, you can smash rocks with it out of battle. Pretty nifty Fighting-type move, too. You know how HMs work, right?"

"...Erm-"

"Basically, you just plug 'em into a DVD player or something, wrangle your Pokémon over and show it to 'em and take it from there. Like a workout tape, or something! Same with TMs, but they don't really have much of a league-recognised use out of battle - I don't really get the huge difference, honestly. But I'm just a hiker, what do I know, eh?"

Connor knew how they worked, of course, but thought it rude to interrupt the hiker. "T… thanks."

"'S alright! Now, don't you kids have a Pokémon Center to get to?"

"That's right, we do!" beamed Reyes from the side. "Now, Baggo, let's- wait, where's Baggo?"

Indeed, the little blue ball of pure, scaly rage was nowhere to be seen or heard, and the hiker could only watch on in confusion as Reyes gestured Connor over to help look for him.

"Baggo! Where are you? Please don't be killing some poor Zubat, or daddy's gonna be upset!"

"Daddy?" asked Connor, face screwing up as he tried to mask incredulousness like he had just bit into a lemon.

"Quiet, you!" sniped back Reyes.

Connor couldn't muster up a reply, and the duo continued to look high and low. It took them about five seconds to find him, due in no small part to the cacophony of wings slapping and Zubat screeching not far away from them - following the cave walls to the right revealed the cause of this was, indeed, the Bagon, and at least seven of the little winged beasts, purple as poison and with O-shaped fanged mouths.

Reyes quickly went tense, hoping that Connor didn't notice his frightful shuddering.

"Alright, Connor, here's what we're doing," he whispered as quietly as he could. "I put him back in his Pokéball and hope they don't try and kill us."

Connor nodded with a gulp.

Like a gunslinger from those Unovian westerns, Reyes drew the Pokéball, mashed on the button, and Baggo disappeared in a flash.

Seven blind, gaping faces fixed their gazes upon the pair, wings eagerly slapping against skin against a backdrop of nothingness.

"I don't think they liked that, Reyes."

"I think you're right."

The two were off in a flash, a whirlwind of flapping violet wings giving chase.

* * *

"Sir, please calm down-"

"Calm down? Calm down?! Me and my buddies are workin' our damn asses off in that damn mine, _another_ one of my pals got laid off, and this is the third time this damn week we've had a Pokémon get injured down there, and you're telling me to _calm down_?!"

In contrast to Jubilife, Oreburgh's Pokémon Center was quite a sorry sight. The passage of many years in the mining city had taken their toll, time slowly gnawing away at the building. Thin patches of dust clung onto the building, a layer of grime caking the windows; the once brilliant orange beacon of hope that was its roof decayed by the sands of time. Regardless, it still stood at almost twice the height of the (decidedly much better for wear) house beside it.

As Connor and Reyes noted through heavy panting when they entered the building, its interior was not much better off, either; particularly not today. Not when a horde of angry miners, trainers and other such folk sprawled the building's length, feet tapping in impatience along the line. The situation, thought Connor as his face contorted under sheer disgust, was far from ideal.

"Ah, dammit," grumbled Reyes under his breath, "why can't things be simple?"

At the front of the serpentine queue, meanwhile, tensions did not seem to be cooling despite the nurse's best efforts. "Sir, I assure you, I am trying the best I can, but please understand, trying to cope with all this has been difficult for the Center, too. We can take him in to look at for now, but I'm afraid any proper treatment would probably have to wait until tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? We'll need him at the mines tomorrow! The poor guy could have ruined his ar, and you're telling me that - I dunno, some asshole's Chatot with a cold is more important?!"

"We, ah, we don't have any bunged up Chatot at the moment, sir. I'm sorry - if you would allow us to keep him overnight, we can monitor him overnight and treat him in the morning, but we do have too many other Pokémon that legitimately need help to offer immediate assistance."

The miner's face was pink as a particularly miffed slice of ham as he conceded defeat, slamming his Pokéball onto the desk and storming off. "Fine! Whatever! Roark's gonna bust a vein one of these days, and it sure won't be at me, lady!"

After the miner's seemingly unending tirade finally ended, the nurse took a moment to compose herself before calling up the next in line.

Shuffling along, Connor's eyes drifted towards the sterile whites of the Center's wall. In places the wallpaper seemed to be peeling a little, unveiling the aged plaster that lay behind it. The sprawling map of the region creased where it would have been folded, the safety pins keeping it on its board only barely hanging on, and Connor couldn't help but feel the proportions were a little off - it had taken him about an hour to get from Jubilife to Sandgem and ten times that to get to Oreburgh, which certainly wasn't reflected in both routes apparently being of equal length. The clock on the wall was a little off, too; by his count it was seven minutes late.

His attention was drawn to the people waiting around him, whether in the queue or on uncomfortable chairs and grimy benches, all of which seemed to have been eaten away at to some degree. The atmosphere in the building, Connor felt, was not a happy one. While the nurse seemed to be trying her best, the weary expressions worn around him didn't really fill him with hope. To his left, among the dense crowd, he saw a man who looked as though he was running on about three minutes of sleep trying to reassure a visibly distressed Bidoof, rubbing its head whilst trying to keep his one up. To his right, he noticed the miner with a slumped posture and crossed arms, the tapping of his boots audible even through the hullabaloo around him.

His focus fell upon Ronnie alongside him, who seemed to be huddling closer to him and distancing himself from the disorienting wall of sights and sounds all around him. He felt an anxious shiver on his left leg, and bent over to soothe his Pokémon's worries with a pat of the head and a soft "There, there."

"...Next?"

Connor was caught off-guard. He had barely even realised that the queue had whittled down, and now he was next. Looking at the clock, the realisation that almost ten minutes had passed hit him - once again ( _unsurprisingly_ , he thought), it seemed he had gotten lost in his thoughts.

"Ah, hello!" began Reyes, who had decided against letting either of his Pokémon out into the sea of chit-chat around him. "Sorry to bother you, but my friend and I - well, actually, just my friend - we came across an injured bird earlier today."

"I see. What bird was this, exactly? A Starly?"

"I think so?" Reyes turned to Connor for confirmation, who hesitantly nodded.

"And what was wrong with it? Do you have it on you?"

"Uh… a, uh, burnt wing - which was there when we found it, I promise - and it really doesn't seem to… how can I put this… er…"

"He's a spicy little lad," chimed Reyes.

"Y-yeah."

"And when did you find him?" The nurse leaned in as she spoke, something which threw Connor off a little.

A shiver ran down his spine as he slowly turned to the clock, thinking back.

"Nine hours ago," he gulped before pausing, the gears of his mind churning out the best excuse he could think of for such a delay. "B-but we were already on our way here, and we had to get here today, a-and… I'm sorry-"

"Oh, gosh, please don't get so worked up over it. It's quite alright, I swear!"

Reyes rubbed his chin as he thought about the next course of action. "Didn't I hear you say that you were full at the minute?"

A vaguely crestfallen look fell upon the nurse's face as she responded. "Yes, I would assume you did. Are you kids new in town?"

"Yeah, we're here to kick the gym's badge and get our butts!" declared a fiery Reyes, fist clenched and eyes full of determination.

"Other way round," hastily interjected Connor.

"That too!"

"Oh, um… about that; the gym is sort of off-limits at the moment."

It took a moment for this to sink in for Reyes, but sure enough it took even less time for him to deflate. "...It is?"

A heavy breath escaped the nurse's nostrils as she nodded. "You see, the mines here have been under new ownership for a few weeks now, and things have been… contentious, to say the least, with regards to working conditions. We've had more and more injuries as of recent, too; the guy you saw earlier, for example, came in with a Machop. Poor thing's arm got caught in a faulty conveyor belt, apparently - they've needed replacing for a while, and there was talk of them doing it before. Now, though, I believe it's been put on hold. Roark's not taking any challengers until the situation's resolved, and there's talk about the miner's going on strike, I believe."

"But… my dad's a miner," said Connor, "and, um… I don't think he's ever said anything about this to me."

The nurse could only offer a shrug of her shoulders and an apologetic look. "Well, that's what I know, anyway. Now, about that Starly - you boys are staying here overnight, I'm assuming?"

"Aye," replied Reyes.

"Alright, in that case… your room is the eighth one down the hall. We'll be sure to update you in the morning."

"Cool! Thank you!"

With that, the pair took their keys and headed off.

* * *

 _Dear Murphy,_

 _It's me, Connor. You might not remember me, but I was at your lab two days ago to get my trainer's license. Thank you for that, and this Pokédex! I hope you are doing well! I'm very pleased to tell you that me and Ronnie are good. As a matter of fact, I'm writing to tell you…_

As he felt Ronnie's cold and rather heavy head upon his lap, eyes shut and peacefully resting, Connor was pleased with what he had written so far. Sure, it was only a single paragraph, but at the very least he'd settled on a tone he felt satisfied with.

He thought he had, anyway. Perhaps it was a little incoherent, actually, the more he thought about it - what if he didn't remember him? He did tell him who Ronnie was, right? Was he coming off as too chummy - or was it showing, that he really wasn't sure on his tone?

"Connor, my guy, how is that email coming along?" came Reyes' voice from the upper bunk, his voice inquisitive as his red headband dangled down and green eyes peered expectantly at him.

"I, uh… well, I think? Maybe? I dunno, it's just starting it that's tough."

The look became more judgmental, the voice desperate. "Man, just pour it out - if it looks good, it looks good; if it doesn't, you can always fix it. It's not going to write itself if you keep stressing over it. I tell you, you've got to take it easy sometimes, friend. Just make sure that you take it!"

As was evidenced by his face scrunching in thought and the corners of his mouth curving down, he really had no idea what Reyes meant with his last statement. That being said, perhaps he had a point. Perhaps he just needed to crack himself open and let the words flow out… or something.

Connor had never been good at metaphor.

"What I wanna know is when that pizza's coming, anyway," bemoaned his colleague once more in an exasperated tone.

It had been about twenty minutes since the pair had gotten settled and ordered from the first pizza place in town that they'd found - Gianluigi's, it was called. Apparently, it was supposed to be pretty good; Reyes wasn't too sure what Sinnoh's definition of "pretty good" was, but it had better have been worth the wait.

An incensed Garra grumbled next to Reyes, his little eyes narrowed and mouth in a frown.

"You're damn right, buddy!" declared his trainer in reply, as Connor tuned out and went back to his letter.

 _I'm writing to you to tell you that I caught another Pokémon today. He's a Starly with a burnt wing, and I don't think he's too happy to be around people. I named him Byrne. I've handed him in to the Pokémon Center for the night, though, as I feel as though it would be best for them to evaluate him._

He was promptly snapped back to reality by the sound of heavy thudding on the door.

"Ooh, that'll be the food!" declared Reyes, a ray of sunshine seeming to materialise within him as his face lit up with a beam. "Connor, do you mind getting it?"

"I can't. Ronnie's asleep on my legs."

"Well, surely you can move him?"

Connor paused before responding, looking down at what was essentially a mass of steel and rock on him. "Um… no offence, but he weighs one hundred and thirty pounds, Reyes."

Another set of four thuds on the door, almost ripping the door off its hinges.

"Ach, alright, alright! I'll get it," conceded a defeated Reyes as he launched himself off the top bunk and opened the door. "Hi, how ar- …"

Reyes wasn't quite sure what he expected a pizza delivery person to look like here in Sinnoh. Perhaps because of cartoons, he was expecting a pubescent, squeaky teen with a poorly shaved moustache to be on the other side of the door. Or at the very least, probably just an average Joe, really.

What he certainly had not anticipated was this person being a) a woman at least two years his senior, b) at the very least three inches taller than him (and at six foot two, he was no dwarf himself), and c) built like a brick shithouse in every sense of the word. Her colossal muscles, from the looks of things chiseled from granite, seemed to block the entire corridor. Her biceps were wide as boulders, and her shoulders broad as a mountain. Reyes was frankly amazed that there were uniforms that fit her, in all honesty; hazarding a guess, she was at least two hundred and twenty pounds.

The gaze of the titan that towered over him lay in the shadow of the brim of her grass green cap, her short blonde hair tied back into a ponytail. Her dark blue eyes seemed as though they were up in the clouds as she looked at Reyes with an unmoving expression, before speaking in a flat tone.

"Pizza time."

"Oh, here you go," replied Reyes as he clawed out some slightly crumpled notes from his pocket. "There should be enough there."

She effortlessly held both boxes in one massive splayed hand as she looked over the notes, and as she did, Reyes noticed a name tag that was no longer blocked by said boxes - "Hello!" it read, "my name is: Lucia," the name written neatly in marker.

"Thanks. Have a good night." With that, she forced the boxes into Reyes' arms with enough force to send him back a step or two before easing the door shut.

A few seconds passed before Reyes carefully lay the smaller box on Connor's bunk, so as to not disturb Ronnie. "Just cheese and tomato, right, friend?"

"Yeah."

"Cool." With that, he promptly made his return to the upper bunk, holding his box out of the reach of his ravenous Gible - or, as evidenced by the sound of teeth gnashing through cardboard and into some pizza, attempting to keep it out of reach. At the very least, he considered himself lucky that Baggo had tired himself out in his relentless pursuit of Zubat and stayed in his Pokéball that night.

Connor, meanwhile, pulled out and bit into a slice before continuing with his letter. He wasn't a pizza connoisseur by any means, but at the very least, he enjoyed this one greatly - the cheese, in particular, was just right, smooth and yet also a little tangy as it melted in his mouth. He very carefully wiped his right hand to remove any grease on it before going back to soothing his sleeping Pokémon while continuing his email.

 _I have to wait until morning to check back on him, as Oreburgh's Pokémon Center seems to be in a rough place. Something's going on in the mines, apparently, and everyone's upset about it. We (oh, I forgot to mention, I've found a travelling partner - his name is Reyes, he's from Hoenn and he came with some dragon type Pokémon) are in town to take on the gym, but Roark's on strike. Hopefully, it'll all be over and done with in a week or two, though._

Before concluding, Connor had a think about if there was anything about Pokémon he could get out of a Pokémon professor, perhaps the person best suited to do so in the entire region. He recalled talking a bit about legendaries in his previous meeting with Murphy - perhaps that was a good route to pursue?

 _By the way, out of curiosity, do you have any further reading you'd suggest on the legendary Pokémon of Sinnoh? I think I told you that I find it an interesting topic, and I suppose it also makes for good conversation - I figured that maybe we could find out more about each other's regions?_

That worked.

 _I hope to speak to you soon!_

 _Yours sincerely,_

 _Connor_

* * *

 ** _Oreburgh City - an overview_**

 ** _Population: 21,500_**

 ** _Gym leader: Roark Swanson_**

 ** _"Oreburgh is an amicable city with its famous mine at its heart. This mine is amongst the biggest in the world, and at the heart of the community - a working-class one, known for its welcoming yet resilient people. It's also home to a host of other famous landmarks, such as Gianluigi's pizza parlour, a favourite across the region, and the Oreburgh museum, an attraction for lovers of prehistory across the globe. It's a fairly dusty place in climate, and a warm one too."_**


	10. The Thin Ice (1)

**_06:32 - October 12th, 2007 - 13 days until October 25th_**

Bathing in fluorescent light as he strutted up the stairs of Sandgem Town's Pokémon laboratory and into his office, lit only by the first hints of sunrise, Professor Murphy took his poorly-sized seat with a bowl of cereal in hand and opened up his laptop. It was a weary old thing, with its dingy plastic hinges and cheap black frame. Desperately in need of a clean, it was, he felt as he pried it open. Or a replacement. Whichever was cheaper.

As he took off the crescent-moon necklace that hung from his neck to place it on the back of his chair, crackling filled the air; flickering blue arcs shot danced around the computer as it came to life. The professor, his mouth full of cereal, only gave an impressed nod as he swallowed. "And good morning to you, too, Rotom!"

" _Hi - ZZZT - James! How are you doing?"_

An electric orange colour filled the dusty LED as two eyes blinked to life. The face's perfect smile was a mechanical one - one that made its home firmly to the left of the uncanny valley; its voice crackled through the old laptop's tinny speakers, crunchy in nature.

"I'm quite alright, myself," replied the professor, carefully leaning back on his rickety wooden chair. "How are you?"

" _I - ZZZT - am good! If I am reading this correctly, you have -_ fifty-three - _new emails. Would you like me to - ZZZT - check them for spam?"_

"Please."

" _Okay!"_

The face on the screen went blank for what felt like minutes. It made sure to blink from time to time and kept smiling as emails upon emails were carefully scoured - dodgy newsletters, privacy policy updates, and even one rather dubious medication sales pitch, all of which went in the spam bin. By the time life poured back into Rotom's eyes, the vast majority of them had been dumped. _"You have -_ one _\- new email. Would you like me to - ZZZT - read it to you?"_

A grin lit up Murphy's face as he nodded, giving his laptop a pleased look. "Oh, of course! Who's it from?"

 _"Apparently, it's from one... Connor Murdoch."_

"Excellent! Let's see how he's doing. Rotom, if you would?"

A window full of text popped up on the screen, partially covering the face on the desktop. _"Ahem..."_

So, as Rotom read out the message, Murphy sat intently listening. His eyes followed Rotom's shrill voice as it rattled through the email - behind them, his brain strung a reply together, continuing to do so even after the laptop went quiet. Once the reading was finished, he nodded, a gleeful little smile perking up on his face. "Thank you, Rotom!"

Rotom was visibly pleased by this, eyes closing and smile widening in joy. _"ZZZT - my pleasure!"_

Eventually, he hunched over towards the keyboard, and began thudding in his reply:

 _Dear Connor,_

 _Thank you very much for the email! Of course I remember you; you made quite the impression, young man - you were certainly very knowledgeable about Pokémon, and a bright little guy such as yourself deserves to be a trainer. It is good to hear that you and Ronnie are doing well, and I'm very pleased that you have made a new friend! That being said, the news about Roark and the situation in Oreburgh is a concern. If things go south, try and stay safe; I would imagine that it will blow over eventually, and any conflict will be dealt with by people more thoroughly trained than yourself. I shall try and monitor the situation on the news and let you know if I have any advice as it develops._

 _I am doing very well myself! It has been a busy few days, as is normal for this time of year. It's always good to see an uptake in bright young trainers (such as yourself). I am also training for the upcoming League this December - things are going well so far, and hopefully they'll stay that way for when the tournament arrives!_

 _As for reading on legendaries, the Pokedex and the Canalave library are both very good resources for that sort of thing. If you want any particular recommendations, though, I suggest the following [and I shall try and cover as many legends as I can]:_

 _Genesis: The Birth of Space and Time, by Beatrix Verstand, is a very broad (and fairly deep) analysis of the stories of Palkia, Dialga and Giratina and their effect on Sinnoh's society;_

 _Pixies by the Lakes, by Magdalena Hedegaard, is an excellent read regarding Uxie, Mesprit and Azelf - specifically their impact on ancient Sinnohan rulers;_

 _Dream On, Sinnoh!, by yours truly :-), is quite the study on how the age-old myths about Cresselia and Darkrai affect popular culture today, in particular movies, and_

 _Geothermic Power is Not Feasible, Actually (and Taming Heatran for That Purpose is a Horrible Idea), by John P. Akinyemi, explores the debate on just how reliable using the magma beast of Stark Mountain to power our homes would be. Akinyemi's answer is spoiled in the infamously long title, of course, but it is still a very good write-up on the discussion (and, indeed, on the Pokémon itself.)_

 _I'm signing off for now, but I hope things are well, and I hope you enjoy my recommendations!_

 _Yours truly,_

 _James Murphy_

 _Professor of Pokémon at Sandgem Laboratory_

* * *

"Anyway, Connor: _that's_ the story of how Kyogre and Groundon, the beasts of land and sea, were actually lovers!"

A dubious Connor clamped down on his lower lip, his only slightly dubious gaze shifting to the side. "Um, R-Reyes, I, uh… I thought it was, ah - I thought it was pronounced Groudon?"

"...You are correct," came his friend's reply after a brief pause, his cheesy half-grin at Connor and his similarly skeptical Aron masking an ocean of torrential shame up to his eyeballs.

It was two in the afternoon, and the pair had spent what felt like the past year slouched on opposite sides of a PokémonCenter's glass table. They had spent that time discussing fables, legends and mythical tales from their homelands. None of them were entirely accurate; most of Connor's information had come from a recollection of the sources Murphy had given him (in the email he had read first thing in the morning, and was both eternally grateful for and too daunted to reply to) that he had skimmed over, whereas most of Reyes' was from hazy childhood memories of books and tales from his family… and, admittedly, a good chunk of it was off the top of his head, for the sake of entertainment. This didn't stop it from being a fun little way to pass the time. Even if one of them lacked the confidence to tell a story without stumbling through it, and the other was far too liberal with artistic license.

It had also passed enough time, too, as almost on cue, the voice of the nurse on duty rang through the Center. "Anyone waiting for the Starly with a burnt wing?"

"I think that's us." Connor turned to Ronnie, giving him a firm pat on the back. A high pitched grunt of acknowledgment came from deep within his little metal companion and the pair came to their feet, strolling over to the nurse's desk. They were greeted with a half-sincere smile, the nurse's (admittedly, only slightly) scarred hand tapping under the desk.

"Okay," she began, air fleeing her nostrils, "to begin with: we've bandaged his wing for the time being. It's not a large bandage, although he probably won't be flying for a week. It's still a fairly recent injury, and although that wing may always be a bit funny, for the time being he seems to be making a good recovery from, which is… _mostly_ good news."

Upon hearing this, Connor found himself wearing an optimistic expression - one that was short-lived, his grin soon evaporating. "Mostly?"

"See, the thing is… and I feel a little bad saying this, considering this is a Pokémon that has clearly undergone abuse from humans… um..."

"Uh… if you don't mind me asking, does he have, like - behavioural problems, of some sort?" said Connor, trying to help the nurse.

"He's a right little shit, pardon my Kalosian." The nurse revealed the back of her hand to the boys - a large scar spread its middle, its length index to ring finger, before speaking in an incredulous wheeze. "I'm lucky I didn't need stitches!"

Reyes furrowed an eyebrow, surveying the damage. "Ehhh, I've had worse," he grumbled with a dismissive hand wave, his other arm wrapped around Garra. "He's only a little bird, is he not? I hardly think he'll kill us - and besides, I'll have you know, my friend here? Very good at dealing with this sort of thing."

"With all due respect, sir, I'm a nurse," replied the nurse, rolling her eyes. "Dealing with this sort of thing is literally my job."

"Well, I…" Reyes began to speak, before noticing Connor go as pink as a Jigglypuff in the peripheral of his vision, his mouth an uneasy zigzag. "...Oh, ah - that's fair enough. Forgive me."

Connor, without turning away from the nurse, nodded in thanks before continuing. "So… um, please could you show me where he is?"

"Oh, I have his Pokéball in the back - I'm not sure letting him out in a wide open space is the best course of action. Wanna come in?"

The pair nodded, as did their Pokémon, and followed the nurse as she stuck her key in the faded white back door, twisting it and shunting it as it opened with a wail. Even though it was, to that point, the least broken place they'd seen in Oreburgh, the room was still not up to scratch for a Pokémon Center. It was a cramped little room, longer than it was wide, lit by flickering yellow light, light that reflected off the admittedly meticulously polished stainless steel surfaces and shone upon the plain blue flooring. Both the chair and the table clung near the walls of the place, and both were probably sufficient for someone of Reyes' size and not much more - he certainly couldn't imagine the pizza delivery woman from last night on either of them.

Also clung to the wall was a set of shelves, one of which had a row of Pokéballs on it. This was the one the nurse was at eye level with, as she gave it a look across, before asking a question Connor did not expect to instill such fear in the air. "Yours will be the one with… Byrne written on it, I presume?"

"It, uh… it should be, yeah." Wobbly knees crept up on him as the group approached the table. Jitters crawled up his spine, crawled into his limbs. His stomach wrung itself and his hands began to jitter. Steel rubbed against his jeans as Ronnie arched up to his shin. Oceans of terror raged in the pits of his being, and a mask of sweat clung to his face. The silliness of comparing an injured Starly's Pokéball to Pandora's box was not on Connor's mind at that moment. What if Byrne attacked him, or attacked Ronnie, and had to be taken away?

The nurse could only offer a look concerned and confused in equal measure. "Uh… are you okay, young man?"

"Connor? Is everything okay, friend?" came Reyes' voice from beside him, decidedly more worried than usual.

"Yeah, I'm - I'm fine, uh - do you mind if we just get this over with?"

Unsure what to make of the situation, the nurse obliged. "I'm gonna take a step back and keep an eye on how this goes, if that's okay with both of you," she declared, only slightly out of a masked morbid curiosity. "I would suggest not getting too close to him, as he is a little bitey, and if you want him back in the ball, let me know - but I figure you may want to take this time to decide what to do with him."

With a click of the button on the ball in her hand, out came Byrne, the ball of rage and feathers himself, in a glorious and furious cacophony of screeching and squawking. His cries ripped through the air with the might of a jumbo jet, loud enough to shatter eardrums and shrill enough to destroy windows. It was peculiar to see such a frail little thing, barely able to lift himself up for only a few seconds at a time, create such a scene. His eyes held themselves shut, and his beak snapped away at any rogue fingers or hands bold enough to enter his domain - as Reyes learned quite quickly, when he reached a hand out towards the beast and met with a clamping down on the pinky finger hard enough to draw blood.

To his side, Connor felt Ronnie huddle up ever closer to him, soft whimpering noises coming out of his little metal companion (noises that were drowned out by both Byrne's screeching and Reyes cursing over and over under his breath) and worried blue eyes staring up at him. One hand on the Pokéball on his belt, he crouched down and began to rub his knuckles against the Aron's forehead, muttering reassurances before he was calm enough to be withdrawn safely.

"Connor, was it? Do you want me to put him back in his ball now?" called out the nurse across the squawking as she applied a band-aid to Reyes' mortally wounded little finger. By this point, Garra had grown reckless in the clutches of his trainer's other arm, wriggling about and almost biting down a few times for a shot at Byrne - who was, thankfully, starting to tire out after about a minute of pure thrashing rage.

"Actually, I _think_ I'll be alright." In the hubbub of the situation, then, it surprised Connor when he found himself blurting commands out. "Reyes, I don't mean to, ah, boss you around or anything, but you wouldn't be able to put Garra back in his ball and possibly take a step back, would you?"

This was met with a look that Connor had not anticipated being so warm. "Oh, of course," was Reyes' response as he obliged.

Now, nothing stood between him and Byrne. Nobody was at risk but himself. So he figured there was only one thing he could really do in this situation, and that was what he did best. Weight escaped his shoulders as he inched ever so slightly closer to the ball of rage before him. The Starly's movements had slowed into little more than aggressive flops by this point, although his beak was still snapping at anything nearby. Which was why Connor kept his palms quite high above the table when showing them to the angry little bird, determined to extend an olive branch. "Hey, hey, hey, hey," he spoke softly, getting an eye roll and amused look from the nurse behind him.

A look that was quickly wiped off her face when Byrne seemed to stop thrashing, quieten down, and give Connor a willing look in the eyes. This was an outcome that the trainer had not been particularly expecting, if he was perfectly honest. As such, he did find himself stumbling a bit with what to actually do with Byrne's attention, now that he had it…

The dingy little room fell silent for a few moments as the boy scrambled to come up with a coherent way to go about things before he finally made his first move: quite noticeably turning his attention towards Byrne's injured wing, steering his head towards it and gesturing lightly at it. He was met with a sharp hiss in reply. Making a mental note to not under any circumstances go near the wing, he returned his palms to their earlier position as slowly as he could. The Starly's reaction had put him on edge, and it took a moment for his breathing to return to normal after that little fright.

With that done, he cleared his throat, gave the Starly a warm smile (making sure not to bare his teeth - he didn't want Byrne to view him as a predator), and began to coo in his soft, slow and steady voice. "Hey. It's okay if you're upset. I understand. But I don't want to hurt you, I want to help you. So please don't lash out, alright?"

Byrne seemed to understand the gist of what Connor was saying. Giving him an attentive look and a tilted head, it was noticeable that his temper was cooling off. Of course, he clearly didn't trust his prospective trainer fully just yet, and so, for now, proving his trustworthiness through touch was still off the table. Still, this was a promising start. The trainer decided to gradually lean in just ever so closer, slower than windmill blades as he did so. Byrne didn't seem to react too negatively to that, either - good sign.

Connor's volume went down by a fair few decibels, his tone becoming even more amicable, as he continued to speak in what was now closer to a whisper. "Listen, listen, listen, hey, hey, hey, it's going to be alright. I promise. I'm not going to hurt you. It's going to be alright." Byrne took a vigilant step forwards - it was going better than Connor had expected by this point, that was for certain. Truth be told, actually, he felt ever so slightly tempted to turn around and take a look at the nurse's reaction, were it not for the fact that turning away his attention from Byrne probably wouldn't have gone down well. That and he would have felt bad being so cocky about it.

Now that the Starly was closer, Connor decided that now was a good time to see how he reacted to hands. The risk of being bitten at the forefront of his mind, he steeled his nerves regardless, biting the bullet and gently, _gently_ moving his right hand closer to Byrne. Going with his left hand, he felt, was a bad idea, as the bad wing was opposite it - and that was an area that he knew better than to go near. He slowly rotated it until the Starly had a sideways view of his hand - leading with a wide open palm would likely have spooked him, and leading with the back of the hand probably wouldn't have worked either.

Byrne met this by taking a couple of steps backward, still apprehensive but growing more visibly comfortable with Connor's presence. The boy, meanwhile, was still adamant in not making any sudden movements to throw him off-guard. The most essential thing here, he felt, was doing things not on his terms, but on Byrne's, and so far this was a philosophy that paid off very well. Once the hand was eye level with Byrne, he stopped moving it. His breathing slowed once more, now at a pace to rival that of a hibernating Ursaring, in an effort to steady that arm - after all, if the Pokémon knew that he was at all frightened, his chances of gaining his trust would have taken a hit for the time being. Next, he took a note of Byrne's body language at that point - he wasn't puffing his feathers out, and his widely-pupilled eyes were beginning to dilate. Things were still going positively - things were still going good. _Alright, good._

It was dawned on him that neither Reyes nor the nurse had said anything yet - something he was very much grateful for (a silent environment allowed him to focus), but something that he also felt was pressuring him a bit by this point. If he made a mistake by now, it would spell absolute humiliation - he doubted he would have heard the end of it from either of them, probably. All it took was one slip and he'd end up with a bleeding hand, shot confidence, shattered trust with his newest Pokémon...

He took another deep breath to calm his nerves. Failure wasn't a necessity by any means - it had all gone well so far, why did it need to stop now? No, he decided that he needed to take his greatest leap yet. Gingerly, as though he were in a bomb disposal uniform staring straight at a mess of wires and a ticking clock, he hovered his hand closer and closer to the crown on Byrne's head. He didn't feel as though there was any other natural conclusion to this session with the Starly, and depending on how the Flying-type took it, it was possible he'd have a new member of his team very soon. Slowly, slowly, _slowly,_ he jittered his hand closer to the bird - knowing that Reyes and the nurse were both watching in bated breath, that all eyes were on him - he inched ever nearer to Byrne, barely even being able to look at where he was going, fully expecting a sharp beak jabbing into his fingers...

A beak that never came. Air escaped his nostrils as he felt his knuckles touch the Starly's feathery forehead. Taking a look, it seemed Byrne was content with this - not too pleased about it, certainly, and Connor reckoned that if birds could frown they'd look a spitting image to the grumpy, defeated Starly before him.

But it was a start.

Slowly rubbing the feathers, he swung his jaw open, relieved gasps of air escaping his mouth. With his spare arm, he wiped his baggy sleeve against the sweat that drenched his brow, his expression morphing into a delighted smile. He turned around to see the nurse, a very much pleasantly surprised look on her face, and Reyes, who looked as if he was about to burst. "Nice going, Connor!" he yelled, unable to resist an exaggerated fist pump as his voice filled the room.

"Thank-"

It was at this moment that Connor felt a sharp pinch cut into the skin on the side of his hand. His eyes widened in horror, his teeth slammed shut, his face puffed up like a balloon as he turned to see Byrne, still very much displeased, taking a nibble out of him.

 _Oh, bother._

Despite his best efforts, he couldn't hold back anagonised scream.

* * *

It was about half past ten in the morning the next day when Reyes and Connor found themselves leaving the Center the next morning. The pair both had one thing in common - band-aided hands from Byrne's attacks the previous day. In spite of how Connor's interactions with him had ended, ultimately the nurse was still very impressed with the progress he'd made and deemed him fit to take Byrne out on his adventure. "You made it way longer without getting bitten than I did, young man," she'd said, "and I've no doubt that you know what you're doing. Just exercise a little more care around this one in future, and I'm sure in due time you'll grow to become good partners."

The prior night's viewing - more episodes of Masked Rider, of course - had given the duo the motivation to check out what Oreburgh was most famous for: its mine. The same mine in which Connor's father worked, no less. The same mine that Roark worked on, and where the gym was located. The same mine that they had been told was going through tough times when they first rolled into town.

As the pair made their exit from the Center, Connor urgently double-checked his belt, as was becoming a habit for him by now. He hadn't forgotten Ronnie's ball, thankfully, but he was briefly surprised by the presence of a second Pokéball - before remembering, Byrne was his now. It was a strange feeling, having an extra ball on that belt, but it certainly wasn't one that Connor objected to, either. Once he was outdoors he grabbed Ronnie's and released the Aron, as did Reyes with Baggo. He had decided he was going to wait until later to get further acquainted with Byrne.

With both Pokémon out and comfortable, the pair headed off for Oreburgh's mine.

They arrived at the opening to the mine about an hour or so later. As the crowning jewel of the city, the pair expected it to be massive in scale - an expectation compounded upon by having to travel down what felt like a hundred stairs to actually get into the place. Yet upon actually entering the place, even Connor, who had been here a few times (albeit with his last visit coming about eight years ago), was left a little disappointed. They were greeted with apparently a million more stairs to go down, with the ceiling of the cavern at most nine feet tall. It wasn't particularly wide, either - the pair and their Pokémon found that all four of them in the corridor was a squeeze. Arm room was very much a commodity here. Moreover, the mine's generally claustrophobic feeling was not at all helped by the damp air, air that would have been severely undersold if it was described as merely suffocating.

Before they headed down the stairs, they noticed that from behind a stream of old metal barrels came a gruff voice, and they turned around to see a man holler out to them. "Are you tourists?"

"I suppose we are! We're not particularly from around these parts, haha - we are allowed down here, though, right?"

The man's leathery face grew dubious. "You are, but why here? What brings you down to the mine? Surely you've heard about how things are?"

Reyes' cool facade remained, not wishing to say anything about the state of the mine. "Oh, my friend here's father works down at the mine, and we thought we'd just pay a visit - also, Roark works here, does he not? We're both taking on the gyms, and-"

In spite of Connor's objection to Reyes' first claim, the man figured it was of no harm to let them pass. "He does, yes, but he's not really taking too kindly to visitors right now. None of us really are. I'm not going to stop you, but... be careful, okay?"

"W-will do!" was the younger one's reply as the pair continued.

Venturing further into the depths of the cavernous beast, neither of the two could help but notice that the lighting was far from ideal. The gas lamps on the walls were old and flickering, their glass cases fogged by the passage of time.

A worried look formed on Reyes' face as he shifted his eyes over to his comrade. "Connor? You _did_ say your dad works _here_ , right?"

"Y-yeah," was his reply, "he does. Why do you ask?"

"Is he... is he okay?"

This was a question that perplexed Connor, and it showed on his face. "Yeah, um... I think so? He's not, like, dying or anything..."

"That's, what's the word - it's reassuring," said Reyes, very much not reassured.

As the pair's footsteps rang out through the empty stairway, descending down seemingly infinite stairs, it came to Connor's attention that the wooden borders around the walls were quite old. Rot had clearly begun to set in, and he was slightly amazed nothing had collapsed on either of them so far. His attention drifted to Ronnie. His little metal friend was also not at ease, trembling and sticking close to his trainer, the flickering and faded lamplight giving his metal coat a nice hue. Looking to Reyes and Baggo, he noticed that, thankfully, Baggo seemed to be under control - although Reyes' power in that was probably up for debate.

Eventually, after what felt like decades of drudging down that cramped little corridor, the pair eventually arrived in the first big level of the mine. It was still slightly better lit than the corridor, but that was not a difficult task. Gas lamps illuminated the walls once more, their task helped by streams of light coming from miner helmets across the room. The pair were greeted with the sight of a great black obelisk of mining refuse that lay straight in the center of the room. Fortunately, this room was considerably taller than the tiny corridor they'd just been down by about five times, Connor reckoned - and the great pile seemed to be stacked up to the very top of that. It also didn't seem particularly stable - stability was not what one would look for a spoil heap, of course, but at the same time he couldn't help but feel it posed a safety hazard.

A miner grabbed Connor's eye shortly after this, almost by accident. This was a man of about fifty, his tabby grey hair thin and wiry, his skin pale and sunken eyes glazed in cynicism; his mouth was grit shut as his back cracked with each movement. It was evident to even him that he was struggling to work. His teeth ground against each other with the force to make sparks fly every time he leaned over, and at regular intervals, he found himself wincing as he stood to the straightest of his abilities and massaged his injured back. Tears stung his eyes as he did so, and misery was scrawled on his face as he got back to work nevertheless.

The third thing that caught the pair's attention was a rickety old wood and steel cart track that seemed to circle around the heap, some pathways leading into alternate rooms. The aforementioned cart was at the centre of the fourth thing they noticed: a Machoke was apparently pushing a cart full of waste with all its might, much to its discontent. Its jackhammer arms, purple and bulging, strained under the load, something Connor guessed wasn't supposed to be happening. Indeed, shortly behind this scene was a jammed lever that probably had something to do with controlling the cart. Lever may not have been the appropriate word for it - it was a great rod of rusted metal the size of a man, its outer layer having been chipped away at. Someone in a grimy miner's uniform marched over to the lever in a solemn fashion, in an attempt to yank it out like a mythical warrior facing a sword entombed in stone.

It took this man's greatest efforts to shove the lever back into position, metal screaming and sparks coming from the lever's holster as it screeched into place. Once it did, the cart trundled back to life, its wheels spinning slowly and chassis weighed down from the weight of the coal as it moved at a snail's pace. After that, the Machoke, sore from head to aching toe from the excruciating labour, trundled over to the side of the room, slumping against the wall and heavily panting as they took a well-earned rest. This surprised Connor, who had always thought that Machoke were supposed to be Herculean beasts, freakish in strength, and this one's appearance seemed to back that assumption up. Unless this was a newly evolved one that had been working for ungodly amounts of time on end, there was surely no way this one should have been so tired.

At the side of the great heap of mound stood a man, shoveling some of the black stuff at his side into the pile, that Connor recognised as his father. He didn't wish to distract him from his work, and decided against rushing over to him to say hello - he surely wouldn't have taken that too well, not least with everything else going on in the mine. Instead, he decided to stay to the side of the room, figuring that it probably wasn't safe to approach the pile without safety equipment on. It was then that he realised having Ronnie out in this area wasn't safe either - nor was having Baggo out, either. Glancing down at his companion, he noticed that he seemed to be eyeing up the heap of coal, and was promptly sent back into his ball with a soft whimper. Reyes followed suit once he noticed Baggo seemed to be squaring up against the Machoke from beside him.

Connor's attention still lingered on his dad, though - surely it wasn't safe to be so close to the pile? Sure, there were two or three others doing the same, but that didn't mean it felt right to Connor. The smaller heap beside him seemed to be almost gone, which was reassuring at the very least. Of course, he then realised it was rude to stare, and promptly ceased, going back to his own affairs.

Reyes took note of this, and decided that avoiding Connor's dad was probably for the best. Come to think of it, there weren't particularly many people who seemed as though they were keen on being disturbed. The atmosphere of the place was a gloomy and somber one, lifeless as the monstrous lot at the centre of the room, with everyone hard at work.

This train of thought was about to be disturbed, however. Connor's father had finished shoveling waste for the time being, and as he stretched his weary back and looked around, he noticed his son wandering around the place from the corner of his eye with a friend. A look dubious and surprised in equal measure grew across his face - he wasn't entirely sure what he was doing down here, or whether it was even safe to be doing so. However, he hadn't seen him in days, and he still wanted to know how the adventure was going. Due in part because he had sort of expected Connor to have given up by now, sure, but also because he was his son, and that's what dads were supposed to do. As was embarrassing Connor in front of his friend.

After taking a quick peek around, he put down his shovel and crept off towards Connor.

"So, Connor," began Reyes, "um... do you want to try to find Roark, or do you want to leave it until later?"

"I mean, erm - I think everyone's at work right now, and I don't wanna disturb anyone, so... I guess-"

A familiar grumbling voice ambushed Connor. "'ello, son!"

His eyes widened in shock. Each and every muscle went stiff. The very core of his being seemed to snap-freeze, as he cranked his head around to face his old man with a hesitant look. "A-ah - um, h-hey Dad," he mumbled, bluffing out an artificial smile. The skin on his father's face, and moreso on his palms, had been stained black, and his fatigue showed through his baggy eyes - and, Connor doubted he was in the best mood, he was sparse with his words.

Reyes, however, was not. "Ah!" He abstained from a sooty handshake, instead standing at ease and giving him a wide grin. "You must be Connor's father, mustn't you?"

"Er... I am, aye," came the optimistically uncertain reply. "And you are?"

"Why, it is I, the great Reyes Vasquez!"

This was met with a withering look from Connor's dad. "...Right. Well, mate, ye can call me Michael," he declared, with a nod that felt slightly dismissive as the group began walking to a less populated area of the crowded and busy mine. "So, Connor, er - what've ye been up to? How's yer little friend? And I see ye've got another one too, I think, on yer belt!"

Connor, who was further away from his dad at this point than Reyes was, was quiet as he searched for a reply, his lips sealed and eyes darting to the side. "Y-yeah, I caught him the other day."

"Oh, I see! Nice one, laddie!" declared Connor's father, his usually booming voice tinged with restraint. "What is it?"

"Starly. His name is Byrne."

"Byrne, eh?" He paused for a few moments, mulling this over as he rubbed his chin before erupting into a chuckle. "That's a good'un! But if you don't mind me asking, ah - that band-aid on your hand; is that from Byrne?"

This was a stumbling block for Connor, whose eyes began to scour every possible angle as he strained to come up with a convincing enough response. It would have made his father worry, ask questions that weren't necessary but rather intrusive, if he'd said yes - so instead he opted to come up with something else. A litany of "ums" and "ahs" escaped his mouth, and yet, after a while, he caught onto the fact that nothing was coming out.

"Actually, no," said Reyes, just in the nick of time, "it was a paper cut. You know how it is, with... y'know, the thing."

This earnt him a confused look from Michael. "What thing?"

"The... ah, _como se dice -_ paperwork, and forms, you know? Isn't that right, Connor?"

Disaster averted. "Y-yeah, at the, eh, the Centre," he stumbled out, withholding the urge to wipe the sweat off his brow in relief.

"Oh, I see - aye, that's unfortunate. Still, nothin' too bad, right? And how's yer Aron gettin' along - can you look after the both of 'em?" Connor's father seemed to buy this response, and there was a hint of genuine relief in his reply. When he was met with only a nod, he decided to press for more information. "What's his name?"

Connor still hadn't made eye contact with his father for more than a couple of seconds at this point, as his attention seemed to lay more on the mine. "Ronnie."

"Nice, nice," was the reply, before silence's hold on the room grew overwhelming. For a solid few seconds, nobody offered anything to the conversation. Instead, the focus was on trying to find something, anything, to say.

Eventually, Connor, taking a deep breath and swallowing his fears, decided to pipe up. "So, uh, Dad, I hope you don't mind me asking this, but... um... I-I heard things are pretty rough here. What's the deal with Roark? And, uh, y'know" - his voice went hush so as to not catch anyone's attention - "the guy with the bad back."

The silence continued for a few seconds, as Michael formulated a reply, a rather sorrowful look in his eyes. "Well, son, we're under new ownership - as of pretty recently, actually, and it's been a bit hectic since then. See, Roark in particular was a bit skeeved about these new owners because he's not happy with the place becoming a tourist attraction - always viewed his responsibilities in the mine and as Gym Leader separately-"

"Out of curiosity," interjected Reyes, "is this Roark guy just a miner, or does he hold other jobs?"

"Well, officially he doesn't, but with all the extra work he does he may as well do. The guy prides himself as a leader of the workers for the workers and all that jazz. He's already going on hiatus as gym leader until the situation gets resolved, but I don't know if it'll be enough. New owners were a little… er, deceitful, if you get what I mean. They said they weren't gonna go too hard on it, but I mean, there's already been discussion of moving the gym into the mine instead of as its own building - I think it's bein' negotiated now or something, actually. We've also had to work longer hours, too - I've worked 8 in the morning till 6:30 at night down 'ere a fair bit recently. And the plans to renovate have been shelved until the money's a bit tighter, too - and lemme tell ye, we need those renovations; we've had equipment break down all over the shop recently. The fella ye were talkin' about, with the bad back? Poor Tom, he's tried to get off work because of that back - thinks it might be arthritis, but they just won't let him - they need the manpower, or something. He's not 'appy with it at all - doesn't wanna break his back down 'ere, y'know?"

Connor looked astonished by all this information. Of course, he'd known his dad didn't speak to him a lot because of work - but as of recent, he didn't really have the choice, it seemed. The talk of going on strike, as much as it would have made life harder for the rest of the town, didn't sound too unreasonable either. "That… sounds, uh, pretty rough. I'm sorry."

"It's awright, son."

"That's rough, but allow me to play devil's advocate here - say you walked out, what would the townsfolk do for power and what have you?"

"Well," replied Michael, "that is a good point - and it's the reason we've not walked out already. But it's just one of those things, isn't it? We don't wanna get overworked, everyone else doesn't wanna lose power - it's up to the bosses to find a balance,"

"Hmph. That does make sense-"

"HEY!"

A man in the same desert beige uniform as the rest of the workers, with a cordovan mullet and wire-framed glasses, hollered this out in the middle of Reyes' sentence - Connor identified this as Roark. He was visibly displeased.

"If the rest of us have to work," he declared, "you're no exception! Get back here!"

Nodding, Connor's father went back to his post, turning back to his son and his friend. "Sorry, I gotta go - uh, see ye around! Have fun with the whole training thing!"

With that, Reyes turned to Connor, shrugging. "So, I suppose that's the mine - wanna get back to the room now, or do some training?"

"Y-yeah, that… sounds good."

The two trudged back out of the weary old mine, with Connor taking one fleeting look at his father. Like everybody else here, he seemed downtrodden.

* * *

 _ **Trainer Profile: Reyes Vasquez**_

 _ **Age: 18 (D.O.B: March 16th, 1989)**_

 ** _Hometown: Ever Grande City, Hoenn_**

 _ **Team:  
**_ _ **\- Male Gible, level 16 (nicknamed Garra; ability: Rough Skin)  
**_ _ **\- Male Bagon, level 11 (nicknamed Baggo; ability: Rock Head)  
**_


	11. The Thin Ice (2)

**_13:24 - October 14th, 2007 - 11 days until October 25th_**

While it was impossible to explore much without a bike, the vast Route 207 made for an ideal place for Connor and Reyes to train their Pokémon. Fellow trainers were quite scarce in the first leg of the route, as the rocky terrain of the place meant most travellers of the route were explorers and cycling enthusiasts. This, of course, meant that the pair could train mostly undisturbed, and there was plenty of tall grass to do it in. From time to time they'd bump into the odd trainer and one of them (almost always Reyes) would stop to have a bit of a chat, but for the most part the day had been spent so far fighting wild Pokémon.

Connor was careful to not exert Ronnie too hard, his memories of his first day as a trainer still fresh in the memory, and had decided beforehand to limit his haul for this session to ten Pokémon at the very most. This number was a fairly random pick, with Connor hesitant to avoid an unproductive session whilst also wanting to avoid another burnout. Besides, it was unlikely he was actually going to reach that number - the presence of species like Machop and Kricketot meant that there was ample room for Byrne to train and flourish, too.

On paper, anyway.

The extent to which this was actually the case was about to be tested, as Connor found himself standing - from a safe distance, of course - over a puffed up Byrne, who in turn faced a Machop determined to stand its ground, with its back a straight line, a defiant look in its eye and its fists laying on its hips. Ronnie had been withdrawn after his second battle of the day, and Reyes was off somewhere unleashing Baggo on a poor, innocent Geodude.

Connor's own body language was much less confident, mind; it dawned on him he was fidgeting with his hands. His biggest issue was that, by his Pokédex's count, the Machop had two levels on Byrne. Lack of discipline was very much a likelihood, one that worried him - Byrne probably wasn't going to follow instructions well at all here. In turn, he was possibly going to make things much harder than they had to be - there was a chance he was going to at least get hurt, and the odds of him getting knocked out were very much there. What did he know about Machop? A Fighting-type; Byrne, both Normal- and Flying-type - the emphasis lay on Normal-type here; he was still vulnerable to Fighting moves. Also famously a physically strong Pokémon - while Byrne knew Peck and Wing Attack, his advantage was lessened here. Although Byrne held the speed advantage, getting close was an inevitability, one that played into Machop's hands - and god forbid it went for the bad wing, too.

He noticed that the tensions were about to come to a boiling point, with Byrne breaking into a hiss and Machop a growl, and decided to make the first move. "Ah- alright, Byrne, erm… rush at his... right side and do a Wing Attack with your left wing!" His voice was shakier than he was pleased to admit.

There was a pause before the Machop let out a cry of war and charged at Byrne, fists swinging. Byrne let out a shriek in retaliation, extending his wings to the fullest of his ability - and Connor whimpered as he realised the Starly was completely wide open. Whilst he landed a few quite powerful (if imprecise) wing slaps, bruising the Machop's cheek and rocking his head about, he also took an emphatic uppercut to the chest. This knocked him off his rhythm completely and did some hefty damage.

"Byrne! Peck to his head! P-please!" called out Connor, a sludge of panic and impulse in his voice.

Just as Machop prepared another crushing blow, Byrne thrust his head back and unleashed a furious chain of pecks at the creature's stomach. This was an improvisation on his part, and while it seemed to be working - each blow provoked winces from the Machop, and some even left significant marks on the creature's gray skin - Connor was uncertain about it. He still figured a blow to the head would have worked better - and it would have got him in the air, too, considering the height difference - but if it worked, he supposed, then it worked.

Eventually, the Machop gathered its bearings, with a look of disgust on its frowning face. Sheer rage filled its red eyes as it flung back its toned arm, and Connor panicked. "Dodge! Now!"

Byrne did no such thing. He was, instead, content to keep going at its stomach, with Connor's plea going in one ear and out the other. As such, the powerful Karate Chop to the head completely caught him off guard. It drew a pained, shrill screech from his opened beak, his eyes slammed shut in the agony. When they opened, his vision was blurry, and a ringing sound hammered at his ear.

This was disastrous. Connor buried his head in his hands - he figured that he really should have known better. Cries of _what were you thinking?!_ and _of course he's going to ignore you!_ and _Why did you rush him into the team, you moron?!_ rang in his head, as a well of shame built up in his gut. He managed to pull himself out of it just to holler a shaky, cracking command to "Use your wings!" - he wasn't even sure what _he_ made of that, let alone what Byrne would.

As Byrne stumbled backwards, he heard Connor's concerned voice cut through the haze and turned to see his anguished face, messy hair and slender forelocks hanging in shame as his eyes screamed an apology. He turned back to the Machop, who was preparing to launch a powerful jab to the face, and while he hadn't been listening to the specifics of Connor's instructions as much as the emotion - he figured he knew better, as he was the one doing the fighting and not some idiot human - a newfound sense of determination to win for whatever reason sprouted in him. Quick as a Unovian gunslinger, he went for Machop's thigh with all the might he could muster at that moment with his left wing, just as the fist neared his face. It landed with a decisive thud. The Machop buckled under the stress on its leg for just long enough.

It was with a bittersweet feeling that Connor heaved his head out of his hands and looked at the scene to see Byrne land a forceful jab the weakened Machop, seeing it clutch its stomach in pain before falling to the ground and writhing in pain. This was certainly a victory, even if it was quite a pyrrhic one - Byrne had suffered his share of thunderous blows from the fight, and judging by his blank expression and stumbling gait, he probably wasn't fit to fight on. But he'd won.

What also surprised Connor was that Byrne was stumbling over to _him._ Of course, he was Byrne's trainer, and this was probably to be expected - except Connor hadn't expected it. He wasn't actually sure what he'd expected from the plucky little bird. Byrne stood by his side nevertheless, giving him a furrowed look. It was still an apprehensive one, but it was a look nonetheless, and a matter-of-fact smile bloomed on the trainer's face.

Just as he scrambled for Byrne's Pokéball, though, an ear-splitting, blood-curdling scream from nearby almost made his heart stop. It was the sound of someone being murdered in the most violent way imaginable, like a thousand knives to the jugular. Connor and Byrne both shot a terrified look in the direction of the noise as it trailed off. Something was terribly wrong, and they were both unsure whether or not to investigate or flee for their lives. Connor's blood snap-froze. Dread filled him. Sweat drenched him. He wasn't keen on dying either by any means, but what if somebody desperately needed his help?

As much as he felt like emailing his last goodbyes to Reyes or Murphy and accepting his fate, he took a deep breath and decided to play hero. A sense of duty filled him, as he looked to the source of the noise with a reluctant gulp… only to find out the source of the noise.

It wasn't someone being murdered. Rather, it was a very panicked looking Reyes, panting and horror scrawled on his face, with a Kricketot clung to his coat.

"Um…?"

"Connor!" he hollered, terrified as he gestured to the little brown bug. "What the hell is this?! How do I get it off?!"

It was _very_ hard for Connor to mask his amusement at this, stifling a giggle with all his might. "Um… th-that's… that's a Kricketot, Reyes - have you not seen one before? I - they're harmless, I promise."

"They're gross, is what they are! Ay, ay, ay - please, Connor, get it off!" was the genuinely panicked reply.

Byrne shared Connor's perplexed look as he was returned to his ball. The trainer gingerly approached the Bug-type, its round body clung to the flowing blue coat and bright little eyes sparkling back at him. It responded with an innocent hum of contentment when Connor reached out a hand to touch it, and did not mind being handled at all when he grabbed it and stood up with it.

"Well, hey, you," Connor mumbled softly towards the little brown creature as he held it in his arms, much to Reyes' shock. He was met with a high-pitched chirp as he took a few steps away, marching on through the tall grass before setting it free.

Once that was done, he returned to Reyes, who gave him a silent look half amazed and half disgusted. "...You know, Reyes, uh… Kricketot are basically harmless-"

"Connor?"

"Yeah?"

"Never speak a word of this. To _anyone._ "

Connor nodded, desperately trying to mask his bewildered smile.

"Good," was Reyes' reply, a surrendering grin just managing to creep its way onto his face. "Now, shall we get back to training?"

With that, Connor took out Ronnie's ball once more, as did Reyes with Garra, and the two went further into the grass together with their Pokémon.

* * *

Multiple days behind schedule, Hawley arrived in Oreburgh with a venomous scowl and a chip on his shoulder. His mood was already severely dampened by the events of the past couple of days - having to abstain from battling had been worsened significantly by the hiker he had met in the cave, and he was dreading his stay in the city with every single fiber of his being. What was there for him in a dusty shantytown like this, full of insufferable tools, doomed to a life of hard labour in the caves?

For one, he decided, his first order of business was to pay a visit to his old friend Kurt. His best efforts to locate him in Jubilife had led him to conclude that he now made his home in Oreburgh, and he figured that he needed to play a bit of catch-up. If that snot-nosed little turd was to have a traveling partner, then he owed it to himself to get his own, too - one that wasn't so savage and violent, mind. After that, he had decided he was going to investigate the museum, and study the history of the region, a subject of great interest to him. He had no other plans after that other than to train relentlessly until this Roark, the fellow who called himself gym leader. had been defeated, and then leave the town immediately for somewhere better. From his first impression of the city, that left his options very much open.

"Alright, Tomyris," he declared as he began to walk, his voice hushed and grumbling, "follow me. We're meeting an old friend of mine, who I think you should get along with quite well. It's unlikely, but if anybody challenges either of us to a fight, ignore them - you're above them, and you must save your energy to fight those who need to be fought. Am I clear?"

An affirmative ribbit met him in reply.

"That's what I like to hear. Off we go, then."

His heavy boots of lead thudded against the sidewalk as he marched through town, hands latched onto the innards of his pockets and back faultlessly straight - "weak posture," his father had always said, "is a symptom of a weak human." Hawley couldn't help but pick up on the fact that nobody seemed to want to bother him or his Pokémon, mind; he took this as a sign that none of these passers-by dared to do so - good. Beside him, Tomyris mirrored his stance, and he couldn't help but feel a hint of pride at the sight.

As he walked, he brought out a crumpled piece of paper that lay in his jacket's pockets and unfurled it. _33 Ironside Way, Apt. 205_ , it read. This was where he could find Kurt if he was correct. Beneath it lay directions from the east entrance to the town; at thirty more minutes of walking, it was far from ideal. Moreover, he had taken care to keep his Pokéballs concealed much more adequately than he had in Jubilife, not wishing for a repeat of that fiasco - judging by the state of the people around him, that was probably a wise choice. This reminded him to make a mental note of paying a visit to Julius next time he was in that area.

However, in spite of his dedication to keeping to himself, he couldn't help but overhear two people walking not far behind him have a discussion. His attention began to shift to that talk as he kept walking.

The first speaker he picked up on had a strong accent - Hawley hazarded a guess he was Oreburgh, born and bred. "Aye, mate; did I tell ye 'bout the new bloke across the hall from me?"

"No, I don't think you did," was the reply; he reckoned this fellow was probably visiting from elsewhere in the region. "What's he like?"

"'ere, he moves in across the hall from me the other week. Long, curly, black hair. bit of a goatee; proper fancy ol' black jumper and pants, posh accent, all that jazz. I says 'ello to him, y'know - being a good neighbour and all that; doesn't really say anything back, just a smile an' a wave. So I say to 'em, 'what brings you 'ere, pal?' He says it's a nice change of pace-"

"Nice change of pace?" spoke his companion, bewildered by this assertion. "From where?"

"See, that's what I says - and he says 'well, I'm studying to be a lawyer!' A lawyer - in Oreburgh?! I ask 'im if he's sure he's in the right place, and he gives me this look, like I'm speaking a foreign language or something and he just buggers off into his room!"

Although Hawley stopped paying attention to the conversation at that point, he took a guess that the subject of this conversation was none other than Kurt - a guess that was confirmed not long afterwards, as he heard the Oreburgh native go down the same street as him, leading to the same apartment building he was headed to. While there were no shattered windows or ongoing fires, it still wasn't a particularly pleasant sight; at about five stories tall, it was difficult to miss, yet its exterior was made of rather unsavoury shades of brown and black. A lot of the windows were in desperate need of cleaning, too - really, the whole thing just wasn't nice to look at. Making sure Tomyris was still by his side, and checking his pockets to make sure Clausewitz's ball was still present, he reached the door of the building and hammered in the address number - 205 - and dialing.

There was a crackling noise, before a deep, and deeply uninterested, voice came through the intercom. _"Who is it?"_

"Kurt, you miserable bastard, it's me!" was his exuberant reply.

" _Who Is 'me?'"_

This time, he toned down his enthusiasm, a tad embarrassed. "Me, y'know - it's Hawley."

" _Ah."_ The voice was notably less lifeless, a hint of surprise present through the crackling intercom. _"In that case, come in."_

There was a mechanical buzz as the entrance to the building unlocked, and Hawley swung the door open. He was greeted by a dimly-lit and faded checkered-floor corridor, and only mustered up one disgusted look before heading upstairs. Going up the stairs, he was greeted with a similar sight. Not paying it much heed, he counted the doors on the odd-numbered side - 201, 203, 205. Room 205's door was cleaner than the other, grimier doors - Hawley considered himself lucky he didn't have to put his hands anywhere near those other, grimier doors.

"Oi, you 'ere to see the new bloke?"

Hawley recognised the voice as the man from behind him, and turned around to see a heavy-set man of tall build looking at him. "Yeah," he replied before turning back to the door.

"Ooh, d'you know 'em from somewhere?"

This was a silly question that Hawley didn't pay much heed to as he instead opened the door.

Walking in, he was hit by the strong aroma of air freshener - as a matter of fact, he was almost overwhelmed by it. It was a pleasant smell - albeit an artificial one - a sentiment that was not shared by his Croagunk. As a matter of fact, she seemed to loathe it, her sacs filling up in disgust and eternal grin morphing into a frown. The curtains were neatly done, with the sunlight of the early-to-mid afternoon illuminating the room. Air came in through the open window, although with the effect of Great effort had been evidently been poured into making the place presentable, and it paid off quite nicely, Hawley felt.

"Good afternoon," came a voice that he recognised from, and he and Tomyris turned around to see Kurt. It had been several years since the pair had last spoke in person, and while Kurt was almost exactly as the man had described, he still couldn't help but feel a little shocked at how time had acted on him. For one, Kurt had always been the taller of the two from what he recalled, yet now Hawley had a good couple of inches on him. Secondly, his Larvitar was exactly as he recalled it. This was a shock to him - he recalled Kurt always spoke of becoming a great trainer one day, he and his Larvitar. At the very least, he'd expected it to evolve after all these years - if they even did evolve, anyway.

"Ah, hello, old chum," was his reply, a grin emblazoned from cheek to cheek as he held out a hand. For everything the past few days had thrown at him, it felt good to genuinely smile for once - not out of spite or cunning, but rather out of actual happiness. "How're you doing these days?"

Kurt seemed less excited about this. His look was not one of enthusiasm or glee; rather, it was almost a frown - a bemused frown. "I'm well." He refused Hawley's handshake, opting to look him in the eyes with the precision of a particularly stern cyborg. "How did you get my address?"

This caught Hawley off-guard, as he withdrew his hand and began to wilt. "Hm?"

"I'm going to be honest with you here, Hawley," said Kurt as he crossed his arms tighter, leaning against his wall. "As much as I appreciate your concern, I don't particularly appreciate people turning up to my house without me giving them my address. This isn't a personal thing, by any means; rather, my security is at risk if every Tom, Dick and Harry has my address."

"Oh, uh, yeah. I knocked on the door to your parents' house and they said you'd moved out, but they told me that this was your address - I do hope you don't mind that?"

Kurt looked up at the guest in his home, going to great lengths to keep his poker face intact. While it was rather jarring for someone to have put such effort in finding him, this was quite clearly harmless - after all, he recalled his parents taking quite a liking to Hawley back in the day, and so it only made sense they'd tell him about his new location. Not only that, but it seemed as though he had thrown Hawley off by reacting the way he did. He had begun to sweat and was clearly at least partially uncomfortable. He was also trying to hide it, but as Kurt knew quite well, Hawley was not the best at hiding things.

As such, he took it upon himself to lighten up the situation, cracking a smile of his own. "That's quite alright!" he declared, sticking out his own hand this time - an offer that was taken up.

With the mood much less standoffish, the pair began to walk through the apartment, eventually taking sitting across from each other on the black leather sofa. Their Pokémon took their places beside them, with Tomyris looking blankly, looking nonchalantly at its counterpart; in turn, the Larvitar leered back at her with narrow red pupils. Whatever the Pokémon equivalent of resting bitch face was, this creature certainly suffered from it.

"So," began Hawley, leaning in, "I noticed your Pokémon - er... Larvitar, was it? Hasn't changed much since last time - have you given up on training, then?"

"Yes, he's still the same old Franco - still a Larvitar. And I've not completely given it up, no; rather, it's just taken a back seat as it's not really my main priority right now, with studying and becoming a lawyer and all that. It's a bit unfortunate, really; I did enjoy it quite a bit, but my career is much more important than chasing some pipe dream." Kurt seemed wistful as he spoke, his attention drifting off to the window for a fleeting moment before returning to the topic at hand. "I see you have a Pokémon of your own now, though - are you becoming a trainer?"

Hawley's face lit up when asked about this, as he lay his hand on the back of his Croagunk's head, giving her a pat on the head. "Ah! Yes, I am - this is Tomyris; she's a Croagunk. I have another Pokémon too; a Shinx - his name is Clausewitz." He was met with a pleased croak, which was reflected in Tomyris' expression.

"Interesting. Not a bad choice - I'm assuming you're taking on Roark as your first gym leader, then? Is that why you're in town?"

"Yep. Well, that and I appear to have a bit of an ongoing rivalry with Connor - oh, erm, you remember him, right?"

Kurt's face shrivelled up as he thought about this for a moment, chewing his lips before bursting into a dubious laugh in reply. "Oh, him? He can control a Pokémon? Hmph - colour me surprised."

"Hah! Me too - and he's not particularly good at fighting," was Hawley's reply before he gestured at his nose, "although he apparently has a friend who is, now. The bastard."

"Hmph - one little boy who's too scared to do anything by himself, so he calls on others to do his dirty work; another white knight who decides it's his duty to help those who don't help themselves. You know, the two worst sorts of people. Just get rid of them, and Sinnoh would be a much better place, I tell you." Kurt paused for a moment before letting out a soft sigh, a sigh that morphed into a sardonic chuckle. "Ah... still, remember when we used to torture him? Give him the old what for? I do miss that - those were the days, as they say."

"They were, aye," said Hawley in reminiscent response. "That's actually sort of a reason why I came to see you, actually. See, we work better as a team than we do as individuals, and you do seem to miss being a trainer - so, you know, if you do want to join me, I could use a sidekick, you know? We could work together, give people like them the kick up the arse that they need, and just change the world for the better bit by bit. Who knows, I could even become Champion like my old man one day, and maybe those bits won't be so small, eh?"

"'Use a sidekick' - you haven't changed a bit, it seems." Kurt let out a light sneer, before looking down at Franco - who was, in turn, giving him an expectant look of his own. He took a look at Tomyris, who seemed genuinely happy to be traveling with Hawley; a bright smile adorned her face as she looked at her trainer. "See, if I could, I would," he began, a tinge of uncertainty present in his baritonal voice. "But I cannot - I have a future ahead of me, and a solid one at that. One where I could actually make a name for myself and become independent, become responsible. More importantly, one where I can serve Sinnoh and protect her, save her from those who wish to harm her - I am sorry, but for now, that's where my heart lies, If that changes in the foreseeable future, however, then I'll be sure to let you know, but for now it isn't an option."

Hawley took a moment to soak this in, nodding in acknowledgment. "That is fair - I won't pretend that that isn't a disappointment, but I do understand."

A silence festered in the air, one that both Kurt and Hawley felt rather uncomfortable sitting in. Only Tomyris' croaking could be heard, alongside the rhythmic tapping of Kurt's fingers on the couch before he spoke once more. "So are you staying in town for long, then?"

"No, I'm leaving as soon as I beat Roark. I don't care much at all for this place - erm, no offence, of course."

"Hmph, none taken," was the reply. "Although I'm assuming you haven't heard about what's been going on recently? He's having a bit of a whinge because the new mine owners want him and his ilk to quit slacking - you know, like _they're_ the ones who own the place. Not taking any challengers at the moment until it's resolved."

Hawley rolled his eyes, drenched in exasperation. "Oh, come on, really? That's ridiculous - it's not like the gym challengers are hurting him."

"I know, right? The whole thing's insane; it's a mine, what do you expect? Bunch of wet wipes, I tell you,"

Whilst this wasn't a situation Hawley knew a whole lot about, he was inclined to agree with Kurt on this one, for the sole purpose that refusing all challengers because of something unrelated to his Gym was a stupid move in his opinion. Not only that, it kept him in this dusty shantytown for much longer than he was happy with.

"Still, though," continued an undeterred Kurt, "there's actually a fair bit to do here. The museum, for one, is actually a fair bit more interesting than you'd imagine - especially their exhibition of ancient history. I'd suggest giving it a visit, myself."

"I'll keep that in mind. In any case, I'll get out of your hair now," grumbled Hawley as he pulled out his piece of paper from earlier, tearing off a piece and scribbling on it. "If you need me for anything, here's my Pokétch number."

"Oh, okay - in that case, I suppose I'll see you around, then. I wish you the best of luck with the whole gym thing, and I apologise sincerely that I cannot join you."

Hawley let out a single laugh under his breath as he stood up, walking to the door with Tomyris in tow. "It's fine, I understand - and good luck with the whole lawyering thing, haha. See you around!"

With that. he made his exit, and Kurt gave a glance at Franco, who met him with eye contact in response. The Larvitar's leer, conveyed by beady red pupils, still carried a hint of envy and was met with a defeated sigh. "You know, I suppose taking on just the one gym wouldn't hurt. Put Roark in his place and all that, eh?"

* * *

Oreburgh's museum was quite the change of pace for Connor and Reyes, compared to its mines. It was much quieter (due in part to the museum's strict "only guide Pokémon allowed" policy), for one, and breathable too; Connor didn't feel as though the air trapped him in a chokehold. Its outside was not a particularly inviting one, as was par for the course in Oreburgh, but inside it was much more evident that great care had been put into its upkeep. The rundown, dust-eaten exterior of the building belied the painstakingly crafted replica of a Bastiodon skeleton that stood, imperious, in the center of the grand main hall, or the carefully maintained paintings of yesteryear hung on the beautiful cream walls, or the meticulous glass cases that enclosed fossils safe from time's decay. Overall, the place's calm feeling was befitting of its intention, as a place of learning.

Of the aforementioned artifacts, Connor's attention was currently fixed on the paintings. In particular, these were medieval paintings dated usually around 1500, by artists whose names he recalled from history and art textbooks he'd read, such as Bartolo Barbachollo or Lorenza di Gallio. The latter's painting was most intriguing to him; it was a painting of the fabled Spear Pillar Mt. Coronet. It depicted what Connor had no doubt was an old man, a clean indigo cloak draped across his back. Before him, a stairway rose to the heavens. atop which stood the magnificent white body of Arceus, flawless green eyes meeting this intruder's gaze with an impenetrable glare. It left Connor stricken with awe, as though the piece had been touched by the very same powers it depicted.

"Yeah, that piece is a good one, isn't it?"

This completely unfamiliar voice ambushed Connor. Freezing up on the spot, he cranked his head around with his deep sense of unease reflected on his face, and he could only muster up a sharp nod before turning back around.

"Erm... cool," was the rather uncertain reply, before the owner of said voice went off on his way, leaving Connor only slightly wanting a bottomless pit to open up in the ground and swallow him up forever, absolving him from the cold coat of shame clinging to him. A coat that he had brought upon himself.

Meanwhile, Reyes was more focused on the fossil section across the floor. Fossils from each and every corner of the world were on display here, of many shapes and sizes. Sinnoh's representatives in this eclectic spectacle, for example, came in the form of a large skull with a prominent forehead, jagged jaw hung open and small eye sockets empty, and what looked like a large shield with oddly-shaped holes present in it. Looking at them, he couldn't help but feel that these were of much more interest to him than Hoenn's fossils, a great set of claws and a big root - on the flip side, he knew for certain that these came from ancient Pokémon. Whilst the skull was definitely of similar origin, the shield made him very dubious.

A familiar, and rather unwelcome, sound cut off this train of thought - the distinctive sound of boots stomping into the hall. He turned around to see the red-haired goblin he distinctly recognised from a few days earlier, displeased as ever and with a bandaged nose. The sight of his face, all scrunched up as though he'd bitten into a Nomel Berry, made him wonder: was he ever happy? He assumed not - after all, the way he acted around Connor made him suspect that even the slightest ray of sunshine touching his cold, dead heart probably would have killed him.

Hawley definitely noticed him looking back at him, too, and Reyes would have been lying if he'd said the sight of him wilting under his gaze, disgust carved into his face, wasn't greatly enjoyable. He watched on, barely masking his amusement, as Hawley stomped past Connor. While it was clear the urge to lay into him filled every inch of his body, he instead trudged on in defeat. Reyes was almost certain this was because he was in a public space, mind, and undoubtedly would have been booted out in quite humiliating fashion faster than one could say "fossilisation," but this was a victory nevertheless.

As for Hawley, these suspicions were partially correct. Sure, he was absolutely livid at the site of two of his least favourite people in the entire world. But acting on these feelings was a fantasy he had to forgo for a number of reasons. This was a 2v1, both members of this dastardly, dickheaded duo had trained much harder than him over the past few days, and there was a third person on the floor who seemed as though he could have gotten involved. While with a bit more prep time and a touch of luck, he came away from any potential fight taking Connor down at the very least, there was also the matter of security guards getting involved - and he dreaded to think of the sums he'd have to pay, how utterly furious his father would have been, if he damaged any of the exhibits. He would've made a clown of himself - and no clown was fit to wear the Wilkins name.

With regret he swallowed this bitter pill and moved on to look at the paintings, happening to stop just next to his loathed rival. The one that interested him most was that of a muscular brown-haired fellow; behind him, a strange orange figure wearing a scorching red aura. The second being caught his eye - it seemed to be a Pokémon, sure, but it wasn't like any he'd ever seen. It was tall and wiry. Its chest was a dull black, its head a three-pointed trident. Its face was almost entirely blank - there was no mouth, no nose, only two white eyes burning with the intensity of a thousand suns. Hawley quite liked the look of this creature. It certainly wasn't to be trifled with.

All the while, Connor pinned his trembling gaze to the painting before him. He'd long since stopped analysing it. However, he couldn't move to another exhibit. Rather, he remained locked in place still as a statue, imprisoned. The prospect of making eye contact with Hawley terrified him - from this close, in fact, he could probably smell his fear. Fear that he was quite lucky had not been capitalised on. Moreover, the person who had asked him about the painting was still in the room, and he dreaded making an even greater fool of himself.

His eyes remained locked on the painting until it was time to leave.

* * *

Roark was sick. Sicker than he'd been for quite some time.

It was a sharp, stabbing sickness, a most unpleasant sickness, that had laid its seeds at the pit of his stomach. A stomach that was tying itself in knots, wringing any joy out of itself as he sat in the miner's quarters. His leathery palms had been tainted black from work that day - palms smothered by sweat, sweat that covered him from head to toe. Mining was something he'd always relished; it was not just a piece of him, it was his whole being, his passion. A passion that had been utterly snuffed out as of recent. His beloved Cranidos had clearly cottoned onto something being wrong, too - the poor thing had been a lot more protective of him recent, it felt.

His sickness was not a virus of any sort. Nor was it a bacterial infection. It wasn't even caused by a gas leak. This was a sickness entirely wrought by stress.

A piece of equipment had malfunctioned that day at work. Specifically, it was a hose that leaked hydraulic fluid. This hydraulic fluid ended up hitting a Machoke with the force of a speeding bullet. Roark felt sick that he couldn't even muster up much of a reaction anymore; what was once a terrible disaster had grown to be something he was used to, like a tumour on the back.

What sort of terrible, terrible leader had he become, he asked himself? Unable to even muster up an ounce of shock, or outrage, or anger, at a wholly avoidable injury.

It was at that moment that he heard a fumbling on the door. Figuring being down was no benefit to anybody, exasperation left his lungs along with the air as he sat up straight. He bent over to pacify the rocky grey reptilian that nuzzled his leg, giving him a pat as if to say "there, there."

He heard a crack and a pained grunt through laboured breaths. In hobbled Tom as Roark glanced at the scene. "Hey, boss," mumbled the man as he went to take off his uniform. Even with his ailment, Tom was among the last to leave, and had even been commended on this by the new owners. "A model employee," they declared, "and one you could all take a leaf out of." It wasn't like he had a choice, of course; even with a doctor's note advising him that taking time off was a necessity, he had been declared fit to work by the council's social security office. As the new owners were quite strict with their paid sick days - days that Tom had already spent a fair few of off - he was faced with taking time off or being able to feed his family.

"Tom," was Roark's matter-of-fact grunt of a reply. "Still being forced to work?"

"Aye."

"When're you supposed to be getting the doctor's results back? I'm all for you working hard, but by the gods, you need time off with that back of yours."

Tom sighed. "Should be the next few days. But please, Roark, don't worry about an old coot like me - heh, I swear, I've been through worse. It's probably nothing too serious, anyways."

He was met with a dubious grunt from Roark. While this would have been bad enough with anybody else, Tom was a close family friend. Admittedly, it didn't feel right to have a favourite - it went against the very spirit of being the miners' representative, he felt - but his closeness to Tom for as long as he could remember meant that it was unavoidable.

Roark's self-loathing was interrupted by his de facto favourite tumbling to the ground with a thud, and his head whipped around. "Geez, Tom, you good?!" he said, scrambling over to him and offering a hand.

"Agh… yeah, nothing to worry about." Tom accepted this offer and was promptly pulled up, clawing onto the wall for stability.

"What happened?!"

"It just happens sometimes, doesn't it?"

It didn't, of course, and Roark was now visibly quite aggrieved. " _Tom._ "

"Look, I just…" sighed Tom. "If you must know, my legs went a tad numb, okay? I assure you, it's nothing that'll stop me from mining, and you can damn well expect me here tomorrow."

Roark could have sworn he felt a vein burst as he exploded in reply. "Dammit Tom, take time off! Spend some time with your family, or something - fit people don't just lose sensation in half of their damn body! I swear, I'll do everything in my power to make sure nothing happens!"

"Roark," was Tom's decidedly cooler reply as he ran a hand through his mop of white straw hair. "My family are the ones I'm doing this for. I won't be taking time off - if I have to come into work in a body bag, I'll come in in a body bag, and you bet your hiney my corpse'll be shovelling coal if that's what it takes to feed them. And please don't get yourself fired for me, boy; you're just an employee. You don't hold the cards here. I don't wanna have to explain why you lost your job _and_ got stripped of your Gym duties to Byron, either."

Quiet befell the air as soon as Tom finished speaking, as Roark trudged back to his chair, defeated, "If you insist." A whine escaped his Cranidos' throat, as he knelt down to comfort him. As much as his colleagues were important to him, it was also a matter of great pride to him that he held the position he did within the League - being such a vital part of the development of many a Pokémon master meant a lot to him. Yet he was still merely an employee, and unruly employees got the sack. Moreover, it would have been a source of great scandal within the League if he lost his mining job - especially with a rich bastard like Arthur in the role of Champion.

"See you tomorrow, Roark," said Tom, having changed into his normal attire. "And please don't worry about me. I can make my way home fine, I swear."

"Uh… right, yeah, see you."

The door slam shut, and Roark returned to feeling like a dead Ducklett. He was alone (with the exception of his Pokémon) and, from the very pit of his stomach, sick.

* * *

 _ **Pokémon Stats - Cranidos**_

 _ **\- Trainer: Roark Swanson**_

 _ **\- Male**_

 _ **\- Type: Rock**_

 _ **\- Ability: Mold Breaker**_

 _ **\- Level: 15**_

 _ **HP: C (67)**_

 _ **Attack: S (125)**_

 _ **Defence: E (40)**_

 _ **Special Attack: E (30)**_

 _ **Special Defence: E (30)**_

 _ **Speed: D (58)**_

 **"Cranidos are** **Pokémon originally from the mid-Cretaceous period, with paleontologists believing them to have lived one hundred million years ago. They were extinct until the early 1950s, when the technology needed to resurrect fossilised** **Pokémon came into being, and were the second, and to date last, fossilised** **Pokémon found in Sinnoh after Shieldon, and the fossil from which Cranidos are revived is known as the Skull Fossil. Their skulls are extraordinarily thick to compensate for the impact of head-based attacks, which this species specialises in; as such, they have profoundly small brains and are often the subject of ridicule for their perceived unintelligence. However, people who own specimen have reported that Cranidos can be surprisingly affectionate."**


	12. White Riot (1)

**_Author's note:_** _Apologies for the delay, the "schedule" should be back to normal soon (although I may have a second project to begin publishing soon, and I hope you all enjoy it)._

 _Also, I don't own Pokémon, nor do I own the song "White Riot" by the Clash._

* * *

 ** _18:47 - October 15th, 2007 - 10 days until October 25th_**

Ten days.

A week and a half.

That was all Connor had left to get himself his first badge and back to Jubilife.

On paper, this was doable. Getting Ronnie's physical might to Roark's own Pokémon was a matter of practice more than difficulty. Once that was done, his type advantage over Roark's Pokémon gave him a strong advantage before the battle had even begun. However, battles were not fought on paper. Good trainers knew this, and so did Connor. For one, being a gym leader, Roark had experience in _spades_ , knew his Pokémon like the back of his hand, and likely had a plethora of tricks up his sleeve; Connor, meanwhile, had been a trainer for all of six days, had Ronnie injured for about one and a half of them, and was embarrassingly bare on the strategic front.

All of this assumed Roark would still be a gym leader in ten days time. With the way things were, this was an optimistic assumption.

Stumbling back to the Pokémon Center after hours of gruelling training with Ronnie at his side, the grip these thoughts held on his brain remained vicelike. Thoughts of uncertainty, of inadequacy, of anxiety rebounded around his brain. Rebounding that stopped when he noticed his father slouched over a table, head in hands, knuckles clenched, over an hours before his shift was due to end. Whilst this greatly concerned Connor, he opted not to approach him for now; after all, he figured, he probably just needed to stew on his problems alone, and with Reyes still off training for a while, he had nobody to fall back on. Besides, his dad's problems were the least of his concerns - by Arceus, he found himself asking, was that selfish of him?

The nurse's desk was free, regardless. Connor decided to capitalise on this as he tried to settle on a greeting. Eventually, he wandered over to the smiling nurse. He didn't want to distract his dad too much, and opted to make this greeting brief.

"Hi!" spoke the nurse. "Welcome to the Oreburgh Pokémon Center; what can I help you with today?"

"Ah…" began Connor. As it turned out, he didn't have a greeting whatsoever; he was still very much sidetracked by the thought of facing Roark, and now he faced humiliating himself in public. On the outside, panic was beginning to set in. Inside, he was clawing away at any semblance of a way to express himself, gasping for a reprieve from the clutches of anxiety.

The nurse's joyous demeanour slowly melted into confusion. "Is everything okay?"

As per usual, Connor had made a mess of the simplest of interactions. He'd given up on trying to verbally communicate this. After all, his charisma certainly did not lie in his speech. His preferred option of throwing himself off a cliff was not present here either. Instead, he chose to gesture at Ronnie, wanting to limit the size of the scene he was making.

"Right, and what's the problem with him? Do you just need me to get him back to health?"

"Um, yes. Please - thank you. Sorry." Connor's tone was regretful as he replied, his urge to join his father in burying his head in his hands noticeable both visibly and audibly. He returned Ronnie to his ball and handed him to the nurse, curtsying as he stood and waited. Oreburgh's nurses faced enough difficulties as things were; they deserved respect, and the reality Connor faced, that he was inconveniencing them with how he acted, gnawed at him.

"Connor?"

Now his father knew he was present, and looked over to him. Truly, things could not have gone much worse. Now that he'd been called out, there was no avoiding him. He'd been trapped by societal convention, and felt himself being reined in towards the table.

"Hey," he said as he approached. A follow-up escaped his lips - "is… uh…" - before he had an idea. So as to not make things awkward, he read the situation over in his mind. Stoic old Dad was upset, at neither work or home, a while before he was due to leave work. "Oh, did they lay you off? Gee, erm, I'm so sorr-"

He was met with a crumpled face, the furrowed eyebrows of doubt making an appearance. "Eh? No, how did you even - ah, whatever. Didn't get laid off, son, but can I let you in on a tip?"

"S… sure."

"Never work for anyone who thinks they're above ye, son." Michael's leathery pink face looked up at Connor with a disconcerting blankness.

"Okay… thanks," was his reply. Initially resisting the urge to press further, there was something uneasy about his dad's expression when he recalled the context of the mines. "Did something bad happen?"

This question caused his dad's lungs to deflate with a sigh. "You remember Tom, right? The fella with the gammy back? He had another fall today. Hit his head bad. Roark said 'enough is enough,' y'know, 'we have to do something about this.' Went to the boss, gave him an earful about the whole thing - rightfully so, y'know; the bloke needs time off, he's sick. Last thing he needs is to quite literally break 'is back in a dark mine pit. Boss says no, he's had his sick days, he has to work, the guy's got a big gash on 'is head, he's bleedin', all 'no, it's fine, I can work.' So I get involved. I essentially say, 'look, the man needs help, you're muggin' him off if you don't give him sick leave; give him 'em or I'm walking out' - and that's where we are now."

To Connor, this was a noble gesture. It may not have been an effective one, after all; his dad was no more than an employee, and from a business perspective, it made sense to let the disruptive employee walk out. From a moral perspective, though, he couldn't help but feel a sense of pride. Regardless of how well he knew him, his dad was doing whatever he could to help a colleague, even if that meant personal sacrifice. Which was good on him.

"So... what now, then, Dad? Are - are you gonna go back there tomorrow? Or after that? Or, er, y'know, not at all?"

"I ain't going back until someone does what needs to be done. Whether that's through a strike, or until the boss comes to his senses. I don't care. In good conscience, son, I can't support that type o' business, though." A wall of apathy lay behind his gaze, a gaze that stuck to Connor like glue.

"I'll be six feet under before I let any crook steal the fruits of anyone's labour."

Silence.

"I have a healed Aron!" called out the nurse, providing a quite welcome excuse for Connor to wave his dad farewell and exit the conversation.

* * *

His father's words still lingered in his mind as he traversed the entrance to the mine some time later.

"Okay, Connor, listen to me out on this one," said Reyes, his voice ricocheting off the dark and claustrophobic walls.

It seemed the light from the lamps that illuminated this passage had died at long last. Connor much preferred focusing on this command over the utter oblivion that lay before him as a result of this, or the air of oppression that clung onto him, latched onto his internal organs, and so he obliged. "Oh... kay, go on."

"So imagine if somebody had a doll room. As in... how do I put this: there is a big wooden door in their house, and that door said 'doll room,' right? Okay. Now, what would be scarier: if that was a room for their whole doll collection - and these are old dolls, from long ago, mind. Or just one doll, with a room only for it?"

Connor pondered this, patting his belt out of habit. He recalled how Ronnie's nerves flared up last time they went down the mine, and took some responsibility for this. Not wanting to stress him out again, he opted to keep him inside his ball this time.

The pair had been walking for an age, and the weight of such time wore down Connor's legs; his knees were on the verge of crumbling as he lumbered on.

"Probably... the second one. If there's a room, just for that doll, then, um... y'know, something's probably up with that doll, right? And, truth be told... I wouldn't really want to find out what, personally."

This answer evoked a stunned response from Reyes. "Really?" he enquired, mouth agape. "But Connor, you know how old dolls can be; there's probably something up with _all_ of them. And think of what a hundred angry, creepy, haunted dolls will do to you instead of one."

"Y-yeah, but..." replied Connor. "Like, if there are a hundred dolls, it's probably just... say, a bunch of Shuppet haunting them - and they're probably not gonna hurt you too bad. But, conversely, if there's one super haunted doll with its own room... that's, like, a really upset Gengar or something haunting it. You're probably not making it out of that room in one piece."

The sound of footsteps and the pair's breathing filled the deafening silence of the narrow cavern. One would have found it very hard to overstate the nothingness of the scene. So long had they trudged onwards that the light of the surface had vanished; the notion of being above ground was almost alien, by now. Yet the only thing more empty than the space behind them was that in front of them. Connor began to wonder how long they would walk until they'd reach the center of the planet and drown in magma.

"That is fair enough, actually."

Come to think of it, Connor couldn't quite recall what he was doing here in the first place.

He stopped in his tracks.

There was definitely a good reason. There had to be. He wouldn't have dared venture so far into the abyss without one. That reason was... it escaped him, completely. Panic stabbed his heart, pumping adrenaline into his arteries. Perhaps there wasn't a good reason. Perhaps he was just wandering aimlessly into danger. Perhaps this whole thing had been a waste of time.

"Um, R-Reyes? I... I think we should turn back."

He hadn't turned around to face his friend, relying on the familiarity of his voice to let him know he was okay. This voice never came.

Connor's own voice grew urgent. "Reyes?"

No reply once more. Turning around, he was alone.

Dread filled him. Had he driven Reyes to his breaking point? To the point of abandoning him? No, that wasn't like him. Reyes would have said something. Probably. Except saying something would have hurt him. Perhaps he didn't want to deal with that. Truth be told, he couldn't blame him. But leaving him stranded in the vast darkness of an old mine?

"You!"

A pounding right hook of a voice snapped him back to the world in front of him. It was then he was met with another surprise. He found that the descent ended mere metres before him. In spite of his best efforts to resist, the voice at the bottom of the mine dragged him in closer.

He was unable to put a face to that voice, though. It belonged to a middle-aged suit in a helmet with utterly indistinguishable facial features, standing atop a great mound of gold nuggets with a pickaxe in one hand. Lodged in the pile was an upright shovel. He was completely and utterly silent; the two glimmering eyes leering into Connor spoke well enough for themselves.

They shone upon the shovel, beckoning him towards it.

Yet as he obliged, his feet weighed him down. More cinderblocks attached to them with every step he took. His bones strained - they felt on the verge of collapsing. His back hunched over more and more, discs cracking and spine aching. Was he carrying an anvil on there? His eyes began to sting; he swore this was the dust getting in his eyes. Silence stabbed his ears. He dragged himself in further. Teeth chattering, he bit down on his nails to stifle his protests. He didn't want this. He wanted to go back out there, to explore the world of Pokémon, to be with Reyes or anywhere other than this. His hands seized the handle of the shovel.

A deafening rumble filled his head. The deafening rumble of an avalanche of gold, cascading down upon him.

To his shock, he woke up.

Sweat drenched him. It clung onto him, joining the duvet to his skin.

He glanced around as he came to his senses. A cold lump buried itself into his chest, and pulling up the sheets, he received welcome confirmation Ronnie was still present, and still very much willing to cuddle him. The belt that stored his Pokéballs wrapped around the end of his bed, and through a groggy stupor he could make out Byrne's ball was still there, unopened. His Pokémon were safe. He was safe. Still in Oreburgh, though - although he was back in the Center room. No sign of the sun was to be seen in the sky, nor was there any light in the room. Yet this darkness was not an impenetrable one, nor was it hostile. It was warm, like the sheets that he lay in. Unlike in the mine, the atmosphere felt open. Breathable, even. The sensation of suffocation no longer wracked Connor's entire body. Slowly but surely his breathing returned to normal.

A squint through the darkness at the clock put the time at about half five in the morning, and only the sound of light snoring came from above him. Reyes had not abandoned him yet either. Yet.

Eyelids weighing a ton, he went back to sleep.

* * *

Reyes was pleasantly surprised to discover Gianluigi's was, in fact, open for lunchtime. At almost two in the afternoon, it was a late lunch; a lateness caused by both Connor only getting up at half past ten and the training session the pair had just completed. It was the former that concerned him, though. Whilst it was true that his companion had a habit of going to bed late and running on less-than-ideal sleeping hours, this morning had been a particularly egregious example of that.

"So, Connor," he enquired as the pair approached the building, "shall you be needing money for it? I can probably spare some."

"Hm? Oh, uh. No thanks." Connor's reply was a mumble as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

"...Are you sure?"

"I think so, yeah."

Neither spoke as they entered the pizza place. A bell rang as they stepped through the door.

They were greeted by the scent of dough as it filled the air, and the sound of impassioned, indecipherable yelling from the kitchen area. Great effort had clearly been placed into cleaning the checkered floor, something that visibly appeased Reyes. An old radio sat in the corner, its antenna unfurled and its output faint and sparkling, almost crackling. Above the counter, manned by a short and thickly mustachioed old man, glowed a menu, with prices and items listed alongside pictures of pristine looking food.

The man at the counter looked amiable enough as he spoke. "Welcome."

Reyes gave a single friendly wave as Connor squinted at the warm light of the menu, pondering his order.

"Good afternoon!" declared the former of the two in reply. "May I please get one large pepperoni, please?"

A nod. "And what'll your friend be having?"

"Can I get a, uh... um... a - just a medium cheese one?"

Nodding once more, the man at the counter punched these orders into the cash machine, reading out a price. Upon hearing this, Connor dug into his wallet and grabbed all of his notes, handing them over. The man at the counter glanced over them with an uncertain smile as he counted them, giving most of them back as well as his change. With that, the pair took their seats on one of the booths. Reyes had done great scouting to ensure this was the cleanest available.

Once seated, Connor's attention drifted out of the window almost instantly. His thoughts drifted back to his dream the other night. He was pretty sure it was the result of paranoia, and nothing more; after all, Reyes had barely left his side the past week, and things were looking up with Byrne, too. Still, there wasn't really much of a way of being certain. It would have been strange of him to ask Reyes if he planned on leaving... as a matter of fact, if he acted like that, it would have probably driven him away in no time - oh, Arceus, was he behaving like that? And truth be told, Byrne wasn't too keen on being caught, either; given the choice, he'd probably -

"Connor?"

"Hm?"

He was dragged to reality by a markedly concerned Reyes. "Is everything okay?"

"Wh- erm, yeah, why do you ask?" he replied. He was caught off-guard; was he really doing such a poor job at hiding his feelings?

"You've been quiet today, and you got up later than normal - if something's weighing you down, I don't mind if you want to tell me."

The jig was up. There was no use in anything except being upfront now. "I... when I got back to the Pokémon Center last night, I bumped into my dad again. Things got worse in the mine yesterday, and he walked out; it was to do with the guy with the bad back we saw. The boss didn't let him take more time off, so he decided to do something - and, ah, the way he spoke about it... I dunno, I guess it stuck with me. Because I had another bad dream last night."

"Oh, that's... unfortunate. I'm sorry. Do you want to talk about that dream?"

Of course, he didn't want to make Reyes worry, either, and there was no use in being _too_ upfront about his feelings. "So... we went into the mine, and we were talking about… er, haunted dolls. The stairs, though; they just kept going, though, and - and then you disappeared, and some guy appeared at the bottom of the mine, on this big pile of gold. Then the pile collapsed on me, just as I woke up."

One look at his companion, however, confirmed his fears: he'd only managed to make him more worried. "Oh, uh - it wasn't a big deal, I promise!" he said, barely giving his vent time to settle. "It's just, it was a little... disarming, is all; but I'm fine, just a bit tired. I swear, it's nothing terrible."

Reyes wore the look of a man under the impression that it was something terrible. "Connor, if you are more comfortable taking on your first gym away from here - you know, with the whole mine thing, it is fine by me, you know that, right, my friend?"

"Hm?"

"I cannot, myself, imagine that even I would be one thousand percent alright with seeing my own father struggle like yours, down in that mine. So I, for one, would not hold it against you if you wished to train elsewhere." He wore a smile of considerable earnest as he spoke. "Besides, if it is what you're worried about, I'm sure that Florence would understand."

Ah. Yes. The bet. Truth be told, having more people in the group hardly enthused him. It was preferable to giving up on Oreburgh, though. The plan of sticking to the traditional gym route was a plan that had grown alongside him. Abandoning it now was compromising on the plans he'd had since childhood. At that point, why bother?

"It's, eh - it's alright, Reyes. I promise. I'll be okay. But… thank you for the offer."

Connor had failed to notice the extremely large waitress through the fog of his thoughts, though, and the sudden sight of her made him recoil in shock as she quietly forced them their meals.

"Thanks," he said, trying desperately to hide his awe at the sheer size of her muscles.

"Thank you!"

She nodded in acknowledgement and left the pair to eat their meals.

As the pair ate, however, the argument in the kitchen continued, and Reyes couldn't help but overhear a snippet of it.

"Well, I'm sorry, my rose petal," spoke one voice, probably belonging to an older man, "but you kids don't know nothing about how the world works. Talk to me when _you_ run a business."

The second voice belonged to their server, who Reyes recognised from a few days ago; her tone was decidedly fiercer this time. "Maybe I wouldn't run a business if I couldn't pay my employees enough to live off without working them to death!"

"'Working them to death?' It's a damn mine! They shoulda known what they was getting into! Besides, I've spoken to the owners, they seem like good enough guys. They eat here quite often, y'know."

"Oh, yeah, y'know, they're working folks to death down there, but they give us business and they're polite so it's all okay!"

"Lucia, don't you think you're exaggerating just a bit-"

"Uh, Reyes? I gotta say," interjected a now quite perked up Connor, "this is some very good pizza."

"Hm? What - oh, yeah, it sure is," he replied as he yanked his attention away from the situation to eat the food he had scarcely touched yet.

The two continued to chow down on their food, and a merry old time was had. They exchanged more information about the Pokémon of their respective homelands; one particular tidbit Connor found interesting was Reyes' anecdote about a Torkoal that was supposedly seven hundred years old. Yet in spite of this, Reyes couldn't quite tear his mind off things. It was evident the mine problem was not going to go away overnight, and it was clearly taking its toll on the townspeople. He needed to do something, anything, to help. But between just the two of them, mere outsiders to Oreburgh, there wasn't much they could do.

Which gave him an idea.

"Say, Connor," he asked once a gap presented itself in their conversation, "would I please be able to borrow some paper? If you have any, anyway."

"Uh - o-of course; one moment." With that he unzipped the backpack behind him and scrounged around - the bracelet, clothes, sleeping bag...ah, a notepad. He pulled out a piece from it and handed it to Reyes.

"Thanks, friendo."

As he waited for Lucia to return to collect their plates, he jotted down the following:

 _Sorry to bother you!_

 _Both of us are new in town; we are new trainers! Friend's dad is a miner - not good! We are both worried. Please help - we will be staying in Pokémon Center room 121 from 5:30pm, please ask for us & we can talk._

 _Many thanks,_

 _Reyes (and Connor)_

Meanwhile, Connor was beginning to wonder what they were still doing here. They had already paid, and he was starting to worry about getting booted out for loitering. And he felt rude thinking this, but what was Reyes doing?

His reprieve came a few moments later, their waitress imminent.

"You're finished?"

"That we are, ma'am," said Reyes, pointing his eyes at the note on the plate in the least subtle way possible.

Lucia gave a look as though he had just set fire to the table as she snatched their plates and making her exit.

* * *

The pair returned to the room as Reyes' named time loomed over them. Connor panted, sweat running down his brow; alongside training being as much of a doozy as ever, his companion had been rushing to get back. The reason for this was something he was still in the dark over, mind.

"See," began Reyes, closing the door once his friend dawdled in, "while we were at the pizza place, I had perhaps the greatest idea any person has ever had. You remember the argument in the kitchen, about the mine and whatnot, no?"

"Er-"

"Right. Well, I figured, I wanted to help out in any way I could. And you gotta know the locals to do that, right?"

Connor paused his ascent of the bunk bed to squint at him. "...Did you invite the waitress over?"

"Indeed I did! I said to meet us here at half past five!" Reyes beamed with pride, positively glowing at his brilliant proposition.

Conversely, his companion was decidedly less optimistic about this idea; the smile that adorned his face was not one of delight but of reluctance. His reluctant look was reflected in Ronnie's big blue eyes, as he parked himself at his trainer's side. "Er... o-okay, sure."

This put a damper of its own on Reyes' smile. "Oh, no, I... I didn't want to give you a heart attack, Connor - ah, I'm sorry!"

"Oh, it's okay, Reyes, uh, no big deal! Don't worry about it." Connor wore a crooked smile that did little to help mask his uncertainty. "Just... p-please, could you make sure you let me know about these things, if it's not too big of a deal, okay?"

"Right, of course; will do."

"T-thanks."

As the clock struck half-past five, another thought crossed Connor's mind. "Er... did she say what time her shift finished at, Reyes?"

"No, why?"

Before either of them could reply, a fist pounded the door so hard it almost flew off its hinges, and Reyes' contemplative demeanour evaporated. "That must be her!"

Opening the door, he was met with a much dourer figure in Lucia, still in her pizza delivery uniform.

"Hello! Thank you very much for coming!"

She grunted in reply, regarding him with borderline contempt. "This had better be worth it," she said, almost as if she had just come out of an argument with her father and boss about getting off work to go meet some strangers to talk about a mine.

"I'm sure it will be! We promise not to take up too much of your time." Reyes was not at all intimidated by the very large and rather upset woman at their door. "Come on in!"

"So," she began as she turned to Connor, the door slamming behind her, "you must be the one with a miner dad, then?"

It took a moment for Connor to register this, so pre-occupied was he by his own thoughts. "Oh! Haha, yeah, that - that's me."

"Okay. Was it your idea to try and help out?"

Reyes took it upon himself to answer for him. "Well-"

"I wasn't asking you, was I? Dumb twink," she fired back, without hesitation. This was effective in silencing him; it left him a shadow of a man, banished to the bottom bunk.

"Um..."

This was far from ideal for Connor - his sole lifeline in this conversation had been cast away. He was being forced to speak for himself, in effect alone and bereft of support.

"It's a simple yes or no question."

"N-no."

What was he to do? Tell her Reyes was her best bet? _Defy_ her? No, not an option; she probably wasn't in the best mood, and he had no intention of upsetting a stranger. Especially not one with such might.

"Right. How much do you know about the mine?"

"Er... not a whole lot, I'd say?"

Silence festered, as it did so often.

Lucia's expression grew sterner; it was evident she was straining not to sigh. "Elaborate."

"What is this," chimed in Reyes, "an interrogation?"

"Do you want it to be?"

Somehow, things had only worsened. Chills squirmed their way down Connor's back, his skin standing up on end. Were someone to take even the lightest of glances at him, they would have gotten the impression he had seen a ghost.

Feeling a great cold lump nuzzle into his chest, he glanced down to see his trusty Pokémon nuzzle into his chest. He was not completely devoid of support, which was good to know. Taking a moment to soothe his nerves, he took a deep breath, adorning a steel coat of confidence, before replying.

"W-well, erm... there's... uh... my dad said that everyone is working longer hours, and - erm... there's this one guy, with - he has back pains, and... people are getting hurt, and, erm, Roark is mad, and he's upset, and... er... that... that's, that's kinda the gist of it - and I'm really sorry that I can't be more helpful, I just never really knew my dad a whole lot, even though I grew up with him, and I never knew all this was happening, and I should have supported him more, and-"

Lucia felt that this was sufficient, and raised a content hand. "Hey, no. That's fine. Don't be too hard on yourself, Connor, was it?"

"Y-aye, yeah."

"Right. I'm sure your dad appreciates what you're trying to do. Hell, it's a noble sentiment, anyway. How long do you plan on staying here for, anyway?"

Connor's eyes darted to his right. "Well, erm, initially the plan was to get the gym dealt with by the 25th, b-but... I mean, just, however long it takes really."

"Wouldn't count on that. I'm going to be honest, it's gonna be a surprise if we make it until the 20th without everything going to shit. This your first gym?"

"Yeah."

"How long you been training for?"

"A week today."

She winced. "I really couldn't imagine worse circumstances to do the gyms under, honestly. I mean, if you can get a badge by the 25th, I'd be impressed, honestly - no offence, of course."

Connor gave a self-defeating nod. "None taken."

"Hey!" declared Reyes from his prison on the bottom bunk, raising a finger in protest, "I think you would be surprised! I mean, I guarantee there's nobody with more talent than him in this entire city when it comes to looking after Pokémon - never seen anyone quite like it, let me tell you, and he's willing to work on it, too. Harder than most folk. even! Training is a tough job, and not many could do what he does; I don't think you're giving him enough credit!"

Lucia paused, taking a deep breath through her nostrils as dark clouds were birthed above her head. She glanced down into the bottom bunk, most displeased. "I think you're giving trainers too much credit."

The mere notion of this confused Reyes. "...How so?"

"Training, at a basic level, is a simple enough job on its own. Really all you need is a knowledge of type matchups, familiarity with Pokémon, the ability to quit your job, the money to buy potions, the money to buy Pokéballs, the money to buy food, the money to buy food for your Pokémon, the money to look after yourself and your Pokémon, bike money, TM money, maybe even buying a Pokémon money... once you've got all that, you have the basics of being a trainer down. It must be difficult, I agree, being well enough off to leave your home and your work to go around fighting people, and you have all my sympathies that family are so rich - and I have no doubt both of you are nice enough folks; you're willing to help a city of strangers out, which is more than can be said of a lot of people and it is appreciated. But it is cliched and beyond ridiculous to suggest that by default, trainers work harder and have it harder than us common people. So please, give it a rest."

Dead air filled the room once more, as Reyes mustered up a stare clouded by contemplation. He paused for a few seconds, mulling all of this, admittedly, rather new concept over. "I mean... now that you mention it, that was a silly thing for me to say, and I thoroughly apologise. I merely meant to say, Connor? He's great with Pokémon."

"Good for him." Lucia rose to fully stand; it was a little jarring for Connor seeing someone meet him at eye level from the top of a bunk. "I'd suggest if you both want to help out, avoid the gym thing until everything blows over; it is, honestly, the last thing we need right now. Second of all, if a strike happens, stick with us. Whatever they say, the owners are corporate shills and nothing more, their humanity replaced with love of money, and they must be stopped at all costs. The workers need your help, through any means possible. If you need to help directly, though, I may have something more concrete and demanding of your attention tomorrow - I'll be working 9 to 5 tomorrow, and I don't think a lot of people are gonna be buying pizza at 3 o'clock on a Wednesday, so try stopping by then. That work for you both?"

"Aye," came the reply in unison.

"Good. Thanks. It was nice meeting you, Connor." A slight, yet genuine, smile crossed her lips. "That's a nice Aron, by the way. Never seen one in person."

Both trainer and quivering Pokémon perked up at this. "O-oh, erm - thanks! His name's Ronnie; my dad found him at the mine, and I've had him for about a week."

"Neat. Hopefully, I will be seeing him tomorrow, too. Farewell."

With that, she made her exit.

Connor had no choice but to stew on this.

Nine days. He had nine days to get his first badge and get back to Jubilife.

In practice, this was nigh impossible. There would almost certainly be a strike in the coming days. When it would begin, and how long it would last, was anyone's guess, but he was far from optimistic about its outcome. Doing it early? A recipe for disaster; he was grossly underprepared. Leaving it late? Who even knew if there'd be a gym, or its leader, to speak of by then? Heck, the way the next few days were shaping up, who even knew if he had time to train?

Black holes for eyes, he slouched around Ronnie, wrapping his arms around the Aron and stroking him softly. He was met with a surprised yet undoubtedly positive chirp before the Steel-type nuzzled into his chest.

"So, er… wanna watch some more Masked Rider, Connor?"

The voice from the bottom bunk carried an air of self-deprecation in its breeze, a breeze that owed itself to humour. It helped crack a smile upon Connor's face. "Sure."

As the screen flickered to life, Connor couldn't help remember what his uncle said once. _Life is like the seas - sometimes, it is calm and easy, and other times it is rough and full of danger, but with a bit of luck, wisdom, and persistence, anyone can make it through._ Indeed, things were doing a very good job of being dangerous. Yet in spite of all this, Connor felt hopeful embers spark within him. He had to stick it through; things were going to get better.

His attention wandered over to the little metal friend at his side, curled up and content.

Things had to get better.

* * *

"Dammit, Tom, stop saying that! You know that it's only going to get worse before it gets better!"

Roark stood over his comrade, writhing on the ground in pain. He couldn't help but scream. His baritone voice was tearing itself apart. An inferno blazed behind his glasses, only one fifth as intense as it did inside him. In spite of his outstretched, sympathetic hand, the look on his face screamed rage. The fire that burned inside him was evidently doing a good job of burning whatever kept him sane.

"Roark, please," mumbled Tom as he wallowed in a pool of desperation, "you'll make a scene."

This came perhaps too late. All throughout the great cavern, activity slowed. Four hundred eyes slowly rested upon the pair, as did the light of two hundred torches.

"Look around you! Do you think anybody _wants_ a scene?!"

"No, b-but the boss'll come in." Equal measures of pain and fear strained his voice. "Use your noggin, Roark. It's not worth it."

Roark was less subdued, his voice a boom as hot magma built up in his throat, about to erupt.

"What do you want me to do? Sit back and watch? Absolutely not! You don't deserve it - _none_ of you deserve it! What does the boss _do_ while he works us like slaves, our backs breaking, our numbers and Pokémon constantly thinned from his negligence?! Tom, are you happy to work like this? Are you healthy?"

"No, b-but-"

"Then why put up with it?! Change isn't going to come from above - if it was, it would have happened already! I don't _care_ if the boss sees this; I hope he does! If it takes me getting fired for you all to do something about this, then so be it, but I refuse to sit back any longer while any miner is forced to soldier on and work for peanut wages when they physically can't! What's stopping us from rising up and putting a stop to this injustice?

This speech was not met with thunderous applause, nor was there any cheering. Instead, the tense atmosphere that settled in the room had reached a fever pitch. It was a great weight, one that crushed him. Yet he had to remain strong and resist; what good was this speech if he faltered?

So focused on this was he that he failed to notice that few eyes lay on him anymore. The attention had shifted to the foot of the staircase; the mood was quite the opposite of determined.

"I don't recall permitting a break, especially not for whatever _this_ is?"

A chorus of grumbles met this voice, and just like that, the rebellion was over before it began. Roark turned around to be greeted by a fifty-something suit in a helmet, with his thick, graying eyebrows furrowed. The boss had indeed arrived, the pungent stench of mint more than adequately announcing his presence. "Roark, Tom. What is the meaning of this?"

"I had another fall," bemoaned Tom, "b-but it's nothing serious, I swear."

"I see. And Roark, that inspired your speech, did it? This little mishap?"

"With all due respect," spat back Roark, "he clearly isn't fit to work. We've had this discussion a million times before; he needs time off, and he has a family to feed - and he isn't the only one getting hurt! The mine is in serious need of renovation before more injuries happen - something needs to be done, and I don't care if it's by you or us!"

Roark's urgency was lost on him as the boss mulled this over, a smile masking his inner thoughts. "You are correct, in that something indeed needs to be done. But we simply can't afford to call off work for renovations for now, and Tom's tests said he could keep working for the time being-"

"His tests?"

Silence fell over the makeshift triangle the three found themselves in, each party's attention darting between their two opponents. The only things missing were old revolvers and a stray tumbleweed flying past.

Roark felt the fires inside him burning brighter, burning hotter, snapping a heartstring under their raw power; a tinge of despair lit up on his face as sweat drenched the handle of his pickaxe. "Tom, you said you hadn't gotten them back."

"I'm sorry, Roark. I was gonna tell you when things got a bit better round 'ere."

"And you told the boss because?"

Speaking of whom, he decided to intervene. "Well, Roark, it _is_ company policy, after all."

"Oh, get stuffed, you! Keep working for the time being - it's going to get worse?" The fires engulfed him, filling him with sheer and unadulterated fury. "Tom, what did the tests say?"

"Tom, please, you don't have to tell him anything you don't want to. We can keep this confidential if you choose - don't feel pressured by a troublesome worker, even if he is a Gym leader."

"Like you haven't pressured him at all? Tom, tell me. _Please._ I want to help you _._ "

Tom's weary and weathered eyes were the size of plates by this point, his gaze fogged over with sorrow. His boss may have kept a level head in the wake of all this. But was that a good thing? He had an indelible feeling that beneath the friendly veil lay… well, nothing. What good was a level head in the face of suffering if it was born of complete indifference? But at the same time, Roark was struggling as things were, and telling him was certainly not going to improve that. If he lost his head, his job was certain to follow, and there was no telling what would come of that.

But something would come of it, at least.

"The doctors said that it might, _might,_ be a tumour. No way of tellin' without surgery, though."

The boss bit his lip in defeat, nodding as he continued to think things over. His eyes drifted over to the right, doing anything and everything in his power to avoid the shaking, burning, furious mess of a man that stood beside him, broadening his shoulders, gripping his pickaxe with all he could offer and glaring right at him with the intensity of a very upset Rampardos. The ties that held this man together had snapped.

"You. You knew about this?"

"In my _defence_ ," he reposed, "it's only a 'might,' and it _is_ unfortunate, but you can only give a man so many days off before it becomes impractical."

"Is that all you care about? Practicality?"

"Well, the company can't let people just not show up and still pay them, can they? It's a case of where the line gets drawn, really, before, um, people ask for too much. Surely you understand?"

Roark's entire body had turned to face his boss, face like an executioner beside his guillotine. With a jerk he flung the pickaxe at the wall, before reaching for a Pokéball.

"What are you doing? A-are you threatening me?"

"Roark!" shouted Tom, his own voice breaking into a yelp. "Don't you be doin' anything stupid!"

Roark broke into a snarl as he replied. "Stupider than taking this for so long? Stupider than believing this sad husk of a man had an ounce of empathy in him?" With that, he released his Cranidos.

His boss' voice took on an edge, his words stabbing at Roark like a (rather blunt butter) knife. "Very well. I've tried being reasonable with you, but I'm afraid that if you continue this behaviour, I'll have no choice but to terminate your contract within this mine. Your status does not intimidate me."

This gave him cause to pause for just a moment before he turned around, facing his coworkers and stomping one foot. For emphasis, his Pokémon let out a rasping roar. It seemed impossible for such a small Pokémon to have the spunk for such a commanding roar, one that stuck to the miners and forced them to look, as their hero spoke once more.

"Until further notice, I will not be returning to the mine."

The fury that had welled up in Roark's gut found trouble escaping, as he felt his voice reach a roadblock in his throat and his body quake. In spite of his subdued demeanour, he was not met with silence, but with disapproving hubbub among the crowd.

"Why not?" said an anguished voice in the crowd.

"Because our boss does not care about us - he's been working Tom and refusing to give him time off, in spite of knowing about his tumour! He refuses to trust us to keep on working, saying that he won't give Tom more time off in case we abuse this trust and lounge around, and he refuses to listen to our demands."

This clearly didn't sit well with the accused. "Now, hold on, that isn't true-"

But he was not given a chance to speak further. Instead, a chorus of boos and jeers met him, as did the sound of equipment being dropped.

"So I refuse to work under these conditions. I love this mine and all the people in it, but things need to change, and we cannot rely on change from above! I encourage you all to do the same, and tomorrow I will be marching in the streets - and the day after, too! And every day until change comes! We hold the power, for we are many; it is our duty to use this power for the many!"

Scores upon scores of lit up faces, scorned and enraged, lay upon him as they cheered in venomous approval. Fists raised in the air, hailing the speech, as their leader made his exit. The tense atmosphere had boiled over, and a deluge of hot rage followed; not wishing to overstay his welcome or lose his skin, the boss was next to approach the stairwell, followed by a fraction of the crowd. "Worry not, folks! Roark's transgressions will be punished severely, as will anyone here who chooses to follow suit!" he loudly bemoaned as he did so, his words mostly drowned by a sea of disgust. "And anyone marching tomorrow will have the police to deal with, I can assure you!"

As he scurried up the staircase, the miners followed suit, leaving only Tom to stare over the mine and its outraged funeral procession. The mine that was once a happy place, a place of work, free of such strife and woe. What tragedy had befallen the place such that a strike was needed? What tragedy had wiped the fierce smile off Roark's face, extinguished the warmth and sparked the bitter flame that burnt within him? What was he to do without the mine, the one thing that kept him happy?

"Tom?" asked the last miner to leave, giving him a concerned look. "Do you need help getting up the stairs?"

He met them with a mournful gaze. "I'm sorry to be an inconvenience, but I believe I do."

The young man of about twenty-five gave him a smile that would not be amiss on the face of someone looking over a dying relative, reminiscent of good times. With that, he grabbed his frail comrade under the arm, making sure he was steady before the pair began their ascent.

"Times are changin', boy," Tom muttered under his breath as he abandoned the mine in its darkest hour. "I don't like it."


	13. White Riot (2)

_**Author's note:** Here's to a happy one year anniversary of this fic's creation! Fingers crossed, 2019 will see more than just 13 chapters uploaded - thank you all for sticking with me so long, and here's hoping you enjoy what else I have to offer. ;)_

* * *

 _ **07:00 - October 17th, 2007 - 8 days until October 25th**_

"Good morning, and thank you all for joining us today! This is Jubilife TV News: the news that comes directly to you, with your host, Pete Goodman; if you're watching, I'm so glad you decided to tune in today! Today's date is October 17th, the time is seven o'clock exactly, and according to our wonderful weather team's ever-reliable Castform Weather Forecast, expect some showers throughout the day. Our top story for today: marches are anticipated in Oreburgh following news last night of a mass walk-out within the city's mine, a mass walk-out led by none other than Oreburgh's gym leader, Roark Swanson. The cause of this walk-out is reported to be working conditions, following the mine's recent acquisition by the Birkenhead Mining Company, overseen by esteemed mogul William Birkenhead. Our reporter, Samantha Lake, is on the streets of Oreburgh — Samantha, how does the situation look?"

"Thanks, Pete. I'm here with police commissioner Douglas Finger. Douglas, obviously, this isn't an ideal situation to deal with; can we expect to see a large police presence?"

"It's not ideal, no, and it is unfortunate; given the scale of the situation, we're not really left with much of a choice other than having quite a large presence on duty. Hopefully, there'll be no need to use force — and I'm sure Roark and company are willing to see reason and return to work soon. Ultimately, however, our priority as police officers is to protect the public."

From personal experience, Jerry begged to differ. The subsequent eye roll was so forceful, it almost forced the cereal out of his mouth.

In all twenty-six years of his life, the police had done absolutely nothing for him as a member of the public. They were supposed to stop crime, yet their method of doing so involved throwing hard knocks like him in cells for a bit and praying that did something — anything. Not only that, they even failed at helping the victims of crime, too; "we're sorry," he'd all too often hear them say, "but there's not much else we can do. Stolen Pokémon are difficult to track down, and I'm afraid your best bet is to just get a replacement." In all honesty, considering the quality of some of the thieves he worked with, it was absolutely baffling this was still a problem. Was there _nobody_ on the force who knew how to catch a criminal, or how to get information out of them? Or did they just not care?

That was behind him now, though. He was a petty thief no more; he was legit now! No longer did he have to rip Pokémon away from their trainers for quick cash, nor was he Paulie's slave. Now he actually contributed to society — he did something he could be proud of. Something Bibby could be proud of — something Lindsay could be proud of.

His breakfast eaten, he rose to his feet, stretching his arms. Going forward, the thing he yearned for most was to be out of this absolute dollhouse of an apartment — with how small and dingy it was, it may as well have been a jail cell. Checking out his pinstripe suit and hat in the mirror, he was pleased to report that, unlike his mob attire, they actually resembled something a sane human would wear. He straightened his tie and ran a hand through his perm, before heading back to the bedroom.

"Lindsay, baby?" he chirped, picking up his suitcase and heading over to her bed. "I'm goin' to work now."

A groan met him as she wrestled her way through the duvet, looking up at him through glassy eyes. "Okay, have fun."

"I'm gonna! I love you so much — make sure ya sleep in, okay?"

"Okay." She barely mustered a smile, one that had crept through a thick mask of fatigue. "I love you too."

Following a quick peck on the forehead, Jerry picked up his suitcase and made his exit, his expression a perky grin.

The commute to work took about thirty minutes, time that was spent mulling over the news he had watched that morning. The entire situation stunk to him, to be honest; after all, it was a well-known fact that Roark loved mining. After all, he would often speak about how it was the blood that ran through his veins. For him to lead a walkout on such a massive scale meant there was obviously something gravely wrong in that mine. It seemed less like he was the one that needed to see reason and more like the folks in charge. The folks in charge had gotten the police involved, though, and the odds of them changing their ways so soon was quite unlikely. It seemed a rough situation, and one he wished he could have helped with.

Which is why it was such a shock when that was what he was told to do.

" _It would be of great benefit,"_ the voice at the other end of the phone on his desk told him, _"for both us and the miners for us to get this resolved. You of all people should be aware of the need to prevent such an injustice as police intervention."_

"Well, yeah, but — me? Are ya sure about that one, boss? I ain't even been here for a week — and I'm only here because I tried to rob ya!"

" _You are not unique in being tasked with this, nor are you unique in the manner through which you joined this organisation. Nonetheless… Jerry. You still have links to the mob — which is why I'm tasking you with seeing if they have any incriminating information on the mine owners we could use. It is, of course, fine if they do not. Your skills may yet be of great worth to this operation, and your performance will be examined and responded to appropriately. Am I clear?"_

His performance examined? That surely meant a handsome reward if he helped bring them down — perhaps a way out of that utterly terrible apartment. "Loud and clear, I hear ya. You can count on me, boss; I ain't gonna let you down."

" _Good. Update me whenever you can."_

Truth be told, he did not know a whole lot about his new boss. He didn't know his name, for one, nor what Pokémon he had, and although they had met face to face twice, he didn't really have much of a clue what he even looked like. (Admittedly, the first time around he had been too focused on the suit to catch a proper glimpse of his face, and the second time was in a very poorly lit room.) He didn't have much idea what this place even did, nor what his exact role in this organisation even was. None of that stopped Jerry from being in awe of him. He had taken him away from the crime business and into a pretty legitimate job — well, one that was decidedly more legitimate than full-blown mob work, anyway — and judging by the place he worked he was a man of some power, too.

Yet what stuck out to Jerry most was that both times they had met in person, he had been absolutely, pants-shittingly terrifying. Both times, he apparently had a friend lurking from within the darkness — a friend he wasn't sure was human, Pokémon or something else entirely, but a friend with a stare that could rip through cinderblock. Moreover, he had the uncanny ability to fill the room with his mere presence; he was certainly not short in stature, nor was he scrawny either. His voice was low in pitch, yet when emphasised carried the weight of a hammer to the face. Even over the phone, his voice ran shivers down his spine.

Stern as he was, though, he was not a spiteful, harsh man, nor an evil, scornful one. Far from it, actually; Jerry had not been used to such respect from his higher ups.

Picking up his phone, he dialed the number of his old mob friend.

* * *

"Hello?"

" _Connor! How are you doing?"_

"Uh… I'm fine, Mom. I-I'm sorry for not calling you earlier."

" _I've been worrying about you — please, make sure you call earlier next time, okay? Where are you?"_

It had been eight days since they last spoke, and Connor was at a crossroads on how to feel. On the one hand, he was sixteen — almost seventeen, even — and had turned out (relatively) okay without much help from either parent. That didn't make it any less rude to let her know he was okay, though, especially if she had been worrying about him. Although…

"I'm fine, Mom — just, er, just in Oreburgh right now. Y'know, I have bumped into dad a couple of times — he, uh… did he happen to say anything about it?"

There was a pause on the other end of the phone. It lasted for a few seconds. Then a few more. Some more after that for good measure. Then a few more; it was almost enough to rouse him into speech.

" _I… don't think he did, no — er, I'll have to chase him up on that. You know how he can be!"_

"Ssssure."

" _So, have you made any friends? Catch any Pokémon?"_

"Um… yeah, one, a-and I caught a Starly, which is good."

" _Oh! Well, that's good to hear."_

Another pause.

"Are, er — things at home, how are they?"

" _Oh, they're good. Things at the station are pretty good, too; we arrested a suspect in that theft ring!"_

"Hey, that's cool."

" _Yeah, it is! Although the paperwork isn't fun, and it is making me busier than I'd like to be. But, you know, police work, eh? Anyway, I just thought I'd ring and check up on you. You're welcome back home any time you want, and good luck with your little adventure — just make sure you call back a bit more often, okay?"_

Little adventure. That was still all it was to her. "Okay. I suppose I'll be speaking to you soon, then."

" _You too! Have fun out there, son!"_

Click.

Talking to his mother was not something Connor was particularly keen on. He didn't actively _hate_ it; as a matter of fact, he dreaded the sort of person that would have made him. It just wasn't something he actively looked forward to doing, either. A task from which he received no joy. It seemed his departure had done nothing to change the amount of interest she had in him, either. She had worried about him and wanted him to call, apparently. Yet the first conversation they had shared since they moved out, his chance to let her know about Reyes, Ronnie, Murphy, Florence, Byrne, Lucia, Hawley, the mines, his misadventure in that Jubilife alley, saw forty-five seconds of small talk and none of this came up.

He hadn't slept enough for this, it seemed — he had been up for an hour, and it was already almost eleven. Reyes had apparently left before he had woken up, leaving a note to say he had gone out to train. The desk was still a mess from when Connor tried to get Byrne out of his ball and onto the table without trying to kill him, whereas Ronnie had curled up at his feet, glancing around the room at regular intervals before looking back up at his trainer. Connor leaned over to rub his head with a weak smile; as he did so, a cold breeze blew in, making the hairs down his spine stand on end.

No matter what he did, there was always a shadow looming over him. A pitch black hand clutching his shoulder and holding him back. The hand of fear. Fear that he was wasting his time by sleeping in, fear that his Pokémon resented him, that he wasn't interesting enough for people to stay around, that at any given moment, things would find a way to go entirely wrong.

"Ah, Connor, my friend; you're awake!"

Both him and Ronnie perked up as Reyes made his entrance, the same spring in his step as ever. His hair had apparently been messed up while he was about, and he was hellbent on fixing this.

"Reyes, hey!" His companion's utterly infectious zest never failed to catch him off guard. "So… erm, h-how was training?"

"Ah, it was pretty good, you know?" came the reply, as Reyes leaned against the wall opposite, his breath yet to fully come back. "Roark will _not_ stand a _chance_ against us, let me tell you — battering him is gonna be easier than battering a Magikarp!"

Ah, Roark. Truth be told, that whole can of worms had slipped to the back of Connor's mind.

"Speaking of," continued Reyes in the exact same tone, "I saw him at the march. Oh, boy, I don't know about you, but I'm _pumped_!"

"Wh- sorry, the march?"

The peppier trainer's expression dropped. "Oh. Yeah, they're marching now. Did you not hear? The strike got called last night — everyone has been talking about it."

"Oh."

At his feet, he felt Ronnie begin to tremble. Concern crept in on Reyes' face. "Is everything okay, friendo? It is okay if you're worried about your dad, or about getting that gym badge. You don't have to lie to me."

"O-oh, what? No, no, I-I'm fine," replied Connor, lying. "It's just… the person from yesterday, er — I hope it's not too much of an inconvenience, but you wouldn't happen to mind if, y'know, if we go see her later?"

"Why would I mind? Of course we can — if you wanna help out, then I would only be happy to help!"

Relief blossomed upon Connor's face. "Thanks. Er… wanna head out and grab some food? I should, ah, probably go train later, too."

For whatever reason, Ronnie's trembling had subsided as his trainer rose to his feet, leaning down to pat his head; he received a nuzzle and a shrill chirp in reply. He chose to bask in this for a few moments before returning Ronnie to his ball in a flash. After a brief glance around the room decided that tidying the room was a problem for his future self.

"Lead the way, Reyes."

* * *

Among the miners, support for the march was unanimous.

A shining sea of scruffy heads and mining helmets filled the streets beneath the noon sun, punctuated only by picket signs. Protesters blocked streets in their entirety, the congregation beating down on the road beneath them as they advanced towards their mine. The ringleader himself had been among the first on the streets, having been present since the early morning; he carried a megaphone in one hand and a sign in the other. The crowds formed around him at first, before winding through the streets like a thick and writhing vine behind him. Where the song of nearby Starly once was, the disgruntled moans of a righteous horde filled the air. Quite like an unruly student, the miners had decided it was paramount that they were seen _and_ heard.

It was fortunate that one of the few sparse pockets formed just outside Gianluigi's. The pizzeria found itself between two picketers who had ground to a halt, underneath slogans of **"THE BOSS NEEDS YOU, YOU DON'T NEED HIM"** and **"MINE MAN SAID FUCK WORK."** It was a cause of immense frustration for Lucia that she could not simply go out and join them. No, she was stuck working behind the counter at a time nobody in their right mind would enter.

Connor and Reyes survived the crowd to walk through the door moments later, the former hyperventilating with his insides almost outside.

"We have arrive— oh no — Connor, I'm sorry, er — are you alright?"

"Y… yes, I… er, uh… I… I had no idea… the crowds… so big… er — yeah, uh, I'm fine."

"Right…" replied Reyes, his eyes sliding to the right, "do you want some water?"

"Please."

"Okay." In a hurry, he approached the counter, slamming a fistful of change on the table.

"One water coming up, on the house." Lucia's voice was utterly deadpan, clearly trying yet painfully failing to find hope. "So you've made it."

Reyes, in contrast, was far more optimistic. "We have indeed! What is it you want us to help with?"

As she fetched a bottle of water, actively urging away Reyes' efforts to pay for it, she gestured Connor closer. "At the very least, I'm glad you bothered to show up. To be clear, you do know that I don't plan on rewarding you for this, right?"

Before Reyes could even formulate a response, a thumbs up from Connor crept into view as he chugged down his water.

This was met with a smile, albeit one that disappeared in the blink of an eye. "A welcome change. Alright. So, you're familiar with the mine owner, right? William Birkenhead or some rich guy name like that. I have reason to believe that he's selling coal to the mob to sell abroad and keeping the profits."

"Crimey stuff." This piqued Reyes' interest. "Go on."

"So, the guy comes over and eats here from time to time — posturing, if you ask me, but that's beside the point. Recently, whilst I was serving the guy, I go over to give him his stuff, and my eyes couldn't help but wander over and see what he was doing. Lo and behold, he was having quite the heated argument with one of his cohorts about being wired his cut of the money."

"And you got that just from glancing at his computer?"

"Yeah."

It was as if a loading screen took the place of Reyes' eyes for a brief moment, before he returned to reality with an emphatic nod. "You might not have any tangible evidence, but I won't deny that nothing sounds more up my alley than investigating crimey stuff. What do you have in mind?"

"I want you to get into that mine and have a look around for anything that might prove they're guilty of knowingly operating damaged machinery — such as faulty and unrepaired equipment or the like. More importantly, though, try and find some proof that they're guilty of financial crimes, be it a ledger or happening to overhear something suspicious. Does that sound doable?"

Where Lucia had Reyes' attention, now she had his interest, as a great devilish grin spread across his face. "Connor, my friend, are you down for some hinanigans?"

One look at him revealed that he was not. "Er… well… I mean, I don't really want to be, like, a-a killjoy or anything, but…"

Lucia bit down on the metaphorical bullet, rolling her eyes. "You aren't worried about getting in trouble, are you?"

"I mean…" he began, taking a deep breath. "Like, I… er… they, uh — obviously, don't get me wrong, what's happening clearly isn't good. But I've been a trainer for about a week. I still barely know what I'm doing, a-and, and I think Reyes can attest, I'm… y'know, not exactly the best at keeping myself safe. And sneaking about a mine — one that, y'know, if there is shady stuff, there'll probably be guards; I-I don't particularly fancy my chances. Besides, and I really, really hope I'm not being a square or anything… but I don't really wanna hassle the police too much. If that's possible."

"What's your name again?"

"Connor."

"Right. Connor, what do the police do?"

"W-well, uh, they… their motto is to protect and serve, isn't it?"

"Protect and serve who?"

Connor paused, the cogs of his brain whirring. "…Everyone?"

"Okay. Take a look out the window. What do you see?"

Knowing the sight that would greet him, Connor obliged. "Well, it's — it's, uh, the march. Just a lot of people striking, isn't it?"

"Do you think that they would be on strike if the police protected and served everyone?" Lucia's tone was as stony as her face as she looked at Connor, arms crossing. "Labour laws do exist, you know, and they're clearly not being followed down that mine. You notice that they're not moving at that part of the march, too, don't you? Consider that the police are, for the most part, near the front of the march. They're not there to protect the miners, they're there to protect the businessmen, Connor."

"Besides," offered Reyes, "in the week since we have met, I have broken one man's leg and another "man's" nose — and as much as I want to say my not hearing from the police is because of my _super_ hiding skills… that would be a lie, it's more because they're just not very good. You severely overestimate the chances of us getting in trouble for this."

All of these were valid points, Connor felt, and all stronger than his rebuttal, 'my mother is a police officer, please don't say mean things about her.' Moreover, he was certain that, by this point, less confrontation lay in the plan than protesting it further — which left him with no choice. "Yeah, y-you're right. I'm sorry. I'll… I can do this. I just, I'm a bit funny with police stuff, what with my mom and all; besides, I would… prefer not to go down that mine again in its current state, if I have to."

"Oh, is she a cop? I'm sorry," said Lucia with a wince. "If I can, I would suggest not letting her inform your view of the police as a whole. Are you two close?"

"Er… not particularly, no."

"I… see. I won't press it further, then - but I do appreciate you doing this, though, and if there's anything you want as a reward, let me know." Like ice through cracked ground, a smile spread onto her face. "I would go but I have this damned job, and my father would skin me alive."

Considering her size, Connor doubted that.

"Yes, well, it is the least we could do — and once again, I apologise for being such a tremendous fool and grand idiot the other day," replied Reyes before he looked at his friend. "Er… Connor, do you want to go now?"

He had to mull this over, wanting anything but a repeat of the gymnastics he did to avoid bumping into anyone on the way here. "Well… er-" he began, before turning around.

The swarm had not just persisted, it was now in motion.

* * *

From the opposing side of the picket aisle, Roark could feel the clammy breath of policemen on his face. The stench of half-digested beans made a good effort to turn his stomach over in place.

Standing beneath the autumn sun all day to block the entrance to his beloved mine was, a point he could not have physically laboured any stronger, not what he wanted to be doing. The row of darkly-uniformed, baton-wielding policemen, barricading the entrance as they faced the end of the march, warning them against taking one step further, was not something he wanted to be seeing. The grumbles of deep discontent, bordering on disgust, from every direction like a tidal wave rising above the sea of miners, was not something he wanted to be hearing.

What he wanted did not matter, however.

The sight of Pokémon among the great crowd was a rare one. Fewer people than had been expected had chosen to risk having them out in such a tense environment, with people either wishing to keep their Pokémon safe or wait until fighting broke out. That being said, they were still present, most prominently a Machamp raising four protest signs to the sky. Four protest signs amongst a nigh-infinite array of them, bearing messages ranging from **"SAVE THE PITS"** and **"SAFE WORKERS = BETTER WORK"** to **"BREAK THE RICH, NOT THE ROCKS"** and **"KICK ASS FOR THE WORKING CLASS."**

Out of the corner of Roark's eye, he noticed that the row of policemen were talking about something. Admittedly, he didn't know what about, but it started with what was presumably the commander of the group getting a radio signal. Whatever it was only seemed to make the row stiffen up further, until whatever stood in front of the entrance resembled more of a terracotta army than anything.

Roark did not get the feeling this was a good thing.

A couple of minutes passed before a ripple hit him. This was a furious ripple, the atmosphere so toxic it was barely breathable. The force that travelled through the crowd threw him a few steps back. It was accompanied by the sound of a thousand funeral marches, as well as uproarious disgusted booing.

It wasn't until a few seconds later that he realised what was going on. In spite of the police presence, the mine was not closed. As a matter of fact, the sea had been parted, if not narrowly, and traversing it were policemen. Policemen shielded by their Pokémon, with new employees in tow.

Not only had the protest been ignored, but it was also apparently just business as usual to the boss.

"Roark, what the hell do we do?" asked an uncertain but most definitely upset voice by his side.

This was a good question, one that Roark leapt upon almost immediately: "We certainly don't give up," he replied, raising his voice while trying to keep his famously level head. "Fight them harder — do whatever you can to make sure those new guys don't get in, and make _extra_ sure we aren't ignored!"

"R-right, thanks boss— er, Roark!"

Met with a nod and a raised, clenched fist, the striker rushed in the way of the police convoy, hand on Pokéball. "SIR!" roared a voice from behind the approaching barrier. "MOVE! OUT OF THE WAY!" Yet he did no such thing, and stood his ground, unleashing his Machop. First two, then three, then a whole pocket of others joined the clash, taking blows from Pokémon attacks while trying to smash the barrier.

As Roark roared in approval, he heard an unfamiliar voice dancing towards him. "Roark! Ach — ah, please excuse me, ah — big apologies — I have an important thing to talk about! Hey!" This was not an elegant dance, admittedly, but it did get his attention. Turning around, he was met with perhaps the sorest thumb to ever stick out of anything.

"…Yes?" he asked the blue-coated man approaching him.

"Yes! Hello! Pleasure to meet you, my name is Reyes — good job with this protest, man!" Roark found his hand being yanked up and down, pulling away to keep his arm from being pulled out of socket.

"Okay? Look, I'm busy here; what's this… _thing_?"

"Ah, right, forgive me. You see, me and my friendo, over there" — Reyes pointed over the sea of heads to the side of the crowd, where Connor stood doubled over and retching — "he is a new trainer, and he loves your work! See, though, his dad works at this mine; you may know him? His name is Michael, I think — so we would like to try our hands at helping you out."

While it was true he recognised the pair — and, indeed, the Michael in question — Roark's mind was completely made up when he took one glance at the hyperventilating boy. It was enough to make one eyebrow shoot up as he Reyes a deeply quizzical look. "…What's your plan?"

"Well, it's simple, really. We go into the mine—"

"No."

"—I didn't finish. We go into the mine, and—"

Roark's whole body contracted for a brief moment, forcing out a deep breath. "Look — if this is both of you, how do you propose getting in?"

"Well, it's simple. We sneak in with that crowd of policemen right there, with those… whoever they are — at which point, we do some snooping around, get proof of their, uh — their safety, er — safety regulations, right? Or, hear me out, there _may_ be evidence that they're doing shady money things… so we maybe could look at their ledger, or interrogate the chief. Just get some sensitive information we can use to kick that man's ass with, you know?!"

Where he had sighed before, Roark found it hard not to outwardly groan. "Okay. There are at least two big problems with that: first of all, your friend over there is a quivering mess, and you'll forgive me for saying he doesn't fill me with confidence."

"Ah! But you see—"

"If you're seriously considering dragging him into the mine with you for some hair-brained scheme, he might need better friends, if I'm being frank. Secondly, do you really think that you — _you_ — are somehow going to sneak past the cops? As dumb as they may seem, those people do have eyes; I'm sure even they can add two and two and get 'extravagant idiot who shouldn't be here'." Pausing for a beat, Roark couldn't even find it in himself to crack a smile of consolation as he turned back around. "Sorry, but not on my watch. Stay out of that mine."

If nothing else, Roark had done a very good job of tearing the wind out of Reyes' sails. The trainer now wore a look on his face like a Meowth having eaten the sourest conceivable berry, his tall and proud posture now weak and doubled over. He understood taking issue with the plan, even if that was too hostile a reaction for someone merely trying to help. But the way he saw it, there was frankly no need whatsoever for Roark to attack Connor like that — what gave him the right? How _dare_ he?!

 _Very well._

Before he could bring himself to face Connor again, though, he needed a moment to compose himself.

To compose an even _better_ plan.

* * *

Off at the side the vast and impenetrable crowd, Connor was in a gutter. Shivering, though it was not too cold, and panting, wheezing, clutching his stomach with his black hole irises plunged straight to the ground. His head, though, was off in orbit somewhere. With so many people swarming around him, there was no way he was taking out Byrne — and the way Ronnie's ball trembled as things were, he didn't want to put Ronnie through this either. He was alone. Alone, vulnerable and feeling near naked.

He didn't wish to rush his friend, of course, but Reyes' company would have been greatly appreciated.

"Ah, Connor!" declared a familiar voice. "I'm back, and I have fantastic news!"

"D-did they call off the strike? Or - or, did, did the boss call it quits?"

This was a bump in his tracks. "Well, no, but _almost_ as good," he replied, before his sunlight returned. "What I was going to say was, I know how we're going to get in — er, provided you don't mind that crowd of people."

The lump in Connor's throat froze, his body going cold as his feet rooted to the spot.

"E… er, s-sure, yeah, I - I can do that," he said, lying. "No problem!"

Naturally, this dimmed Reyes' tune. "Oh. Look, please don't feel pressured into doing anything you don't want to do, Connor — we can leave it until you don't feel this way, or — or, until there's some way we can get in without dealing with the whole crowd thing. If that suits you?"

"I… I mean… look, I do appreciate it, but… I… er, I don't really want to be a letdown, because my brain is dumb — a-and we're sort of on a time limit, I guess, aren't we? The sooner we get this resolved, the better it is for everyone." Betraying the rest of his body language, Connor broke into a smile about as uneasy as a cliff edge. "I-I'm not a child anymore. I can do this. I've got this.

In spite of his best efforts, Reyes lit up again, conceding defeat as he offered a thumbs up and straightened his back. "Well, if you insist. Follow my lead, my friend!"

Connor felt a wave of regret instantly wash over him.

It was much too late to turn back now, of course — he had already made his promise to Reyes, and by breaking it he was not only betraying him but every single miner. But as he tucked his arms in as tightly as possible and withdrew his head into his jacket, desperately swerving from side to side and keeping both eyes on Reyes, it did nothing to alleviate his newfound dizziness. Any sense of duty he had, the idea that he was doing a necessary and very positive thing, did nothing to stop his vision from going double, or his turbocharged breathing, or the knots that came to be in his stomach, and how he wished he could have brought out Ronnie, or Byrne, or what if they got in trouble with the police, or what if they got lost in the mine and then got in trouble with the police, or they got in trouble with Roark, and how pathetic the notion of an aspiring trainer that couldn't even walk through a crowd was, and how the people in his dreams were right, as the walk through the crowd dragged on ever longer, and why did he feel sick—

"Officer! I hate to be a bother, sir, but that's my Bagon down there!"

Reyes' shout was a slap to the face Connor, rousing him back to reality as he found himself just behind the picket line in the tow of his friend. Out of the corner of his eye, he just noticed Reyes slip something back in his pocket as his shouting garnered him some concerned looks from the line of strikers.

"You've got a Pokémon in there?!" asked one of the ones beside him, in a state of bewilderment.

"STAY BEHIND THE LINE! No entry unless you have permission!"

Connor's fogged up state of mind was cut clean through by the familiar site of a blue troublemaker charging around the mine entrance, just in front of the dreaded thousand-mile stairwell.

"Yes! Forgive me, I'm new around here — could you please let me down there?! He does not like being touched by strangers!" Reyes' loud hollering was carried by a voice that came off legitimately panicking, and his expression further reflected this.

"Officer, he's right!" called another striker, with a chorus of discontent rising from his comrades. "That's a Pokémon in there — let him in!"

"NO ENTRY, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES! STAY BACK! DO NOT CROSS THAT LINE!"

"LET HIM IN! LET HIM IN!"

The uniform grumbling of the picket line had evolved, now a wall of sword-sharp shouts, demanding that the row of policemen "LET HIM IN!" or face consequences — consequences that soon became clear, as Pokéballs began to come out.

Through the hands covering his ears, Connor listened to all this. The plan was certainly going, but whether it was going very well or absolutely terribly was unclear. He wasn't too keen on finding out though, tucking his arms all the way in, closing his eyes almost all the way shut, and bracing himself for whatever came next.

"Officer! Please — let me get my Pokémon! I don't want him hurt!"

Left with no choice in the face of the wall of vicious sound, the bellowing officer turned to his companion with a lowered voice. "Deal with that Bagon."

"Me? But I don't have my Pokéballs on me, chief-"

"I didn't stutter, did I, Spoons?"

"…No, chief." With that, the officer turned around with his head hung, pepper spray in one hand and baton holstered and ready to go.

The crowd didn't approve.

Through the incomprehensible, thick sludge of outraged cries and urgent shouting that filled the air, the picketers made their advance, sending out their Pokémon and rushing at the police officers. They did the same, and soon the formation had broken rank to deal with the threat. Orders filled the air, as did the sound of Pokémon cries and footsteps.

Connor hoisted his head above all of this to see Reyes gesturing a "follow me" behind his back, as his friend entered the fray.

 _What._

Connor's heartbeat increased exponentially in tempo. Whatever was going on in his head was something not even he could decipher, nor could he explain it. His lower body felt completely frozen with fear, and his head advised running away as soon as possible, avoiding the trouble he would inevitably get into. His heart, on the other hand, reminded him of all the people, the hard-working and good-hearted miners like Roark, like the man with the bad back, as well as his dad, whose lives would have been significantly improved by the end of this whole situation.

His deeply conflicted state of mind didn't stop his shaking, trembling legs beating the feeling that they would give way. He soon found himself rushing past the police to follow Reyes down, looking back to make sure he wasn't seen.

"Thanks, Baggo!" called out Reyes, returning the little blue beast to his ball before making his way down the stairs, and Connor did the same.

"Reyes! What _was_ that?!"

"That was the plan, Connor, and it worked! Now, let's go fix this damn mine, buddy!"

While Connor obliged to this and followed suit, he was still uncertain on what else, exactly, this plan entailed. Or what was next for him, or for Reyes, or for the pair's adventure; or the miners, or the boss, or for Oreburgh as a whole.


	14. White Riot (3)

_**16:18 - October 17th, 2007 - 8 days until October 25th**_

Connor could think of few things he fancied less than the cramped and bustling mine. The soulless and empty mine was one of them.

At the very least, when it firing on all chambers, there was life about the place. It may have been utterly claustrophobic, urgent hollering and clangs forming an impenetrable wall of sound. But when empty, this was replaced with something even worse: a ghostly presence, and the oppressive sense of nothingness. Even the great swarming hive of workers, muttering and talking and yelling as they navigated around the clutter of mine carts, machines and the mound, was a preferable prospect than sheer emptiness. An emptiness that could be felt halfway down the colossus of a stairwell that led into the mine's heart.

An empty feeling ran down the empty space between Connor's t-shirt and back, sending shivers down his spine. Whether out of fear of the great nothing or an urge to defy it, he wasn't sure, but something deep within called on him to summon Ronnie as he entered.

"S-so, Reyes," he asked in hushed tones, as Ronnie arched up near his leg. "What now?"

"It's simple. Together we'll look for faulty equipment, get photo - or video - proof that it's conked, and then we'll go snoop about the office. I'm sure whoever's in here, they'll help us find it!"

Connor nodded, his whisper going sickly. "…Right, that, er, that works. But what if there's like, a-a g-guard or the police, or something like that?"

"Then we'll just have to beat the crap out of them, won't we, my friend?"

The nod that met this one was much more hesitant.

The first order of business was that jammed lever down by the cart rails, which was being gingerly approached by a green worker. Just as Reyes wanted it — his Pokémon withdrawn, he began his gambit, taking out his Pokédex and preparing to film. Connor, sharing a glance and moment of silent debate with Ronnie, followed a fair few paces behind.

"Hey, excuse me, sir — what's your name?"

The fresh miner looked up at Reyes, confusion the only break in his otherwise tired, diligent face. "What? It's Doug."

"Doug, hey! I'm Reyes; you don't mind if I do a bit of filming here, right? Just making sure everything is safe down here, after all," came the response, spring in step reflected in voice. "Getting hurt? Big no-no!"

"…Sure, just don't get in the way," replied a Doug that was definitely not getting paid enough for this.

"Thank you so much!"

Reyes turned to Connor as he pressed the record button, and Connor did the same. Doug was having a much harder time in getting the lever to obey, though. One arm on the lever became two as he threw his entire back into it. First a grumble, then a groan, and finally a screech escaped his throat as he seized down on the hunk of metal. After what felt like an entire minute of struggle, the lever obeyed with an unholy screech and the crackle of sparks. Reyes' attempts to resist the cacophony were much more successful than Connor's, who had been forced back by the litany of health and safety hazards before him.

"Aaah, that is just — _excellent,_ " spoke Reyes through a grimace as he turned his camera to the rolling mine cart that sputtered to life. "Thank you, so much — I… assume you're a new employee, right?"

"I wish I wasn't." Doug's gaze up at his questioner was one that travelled a thousand yards over its baggy eyelids. "Bloody first day and I have to break a strike, my colleagues are going to kill me when and if they get back, boss says I'm here till 11, and tourists want to film me like I'm some sort of exhibit."

 _Tourists. Exhibit._

Connor's body froze at these words. He was a week-old trainer, not some working-class hero, and nobody except Lucia had asked for his help. Why she'd done that, he had no idea, but Doug was right — he was a tourist, a foreigner, an alien that didn't belong here — and there were guards here, and what if Roark found out, or the police, and he got a criminal record, and—

The cold lump that called his side home bundled up closer to him, drawing his attention. At the very least, Ronnie was content enough, and certainly did not object to a pat, a reward for being a very good boy.

Anyway, where was he?

Where was Reyes?

"Hey! Over here, buddy!"

Perking up, Connor rushed to his friend, slaloming between machines and men. Reyes had taken a vested interest in a broken conveyor belt. "Yeah," he called out to the operator of the belt. "Just, like, try pressing the thingy-majig — try turning it on."

Connor took the hint, pulling out his Pokédex and recording the inevitable that came next — attempts to bring the beast back to life were in vain, with only mechanical sputters and grumbles coming from the machine.

"Yeah, see, it's just — it's not turning on, see? Ruddy typical. Always like this, bloody thing."

"Always? How long have you been here?"

"Oh, couple of years. I would be out there striking, but a man's gotta eat, you know?"

Something felt off, though, as Connor stopped recording. Like a coin balanced on a table's edge, he wasn't sure how close this whole operation teetered to disaster. Under the pressure, he'd have been lying if he'd said his legs didn't tremble. Yet he could not falter now. Ronnie was relying on him to keep it together, and it was the thought of letting him down that kept him stable.

"Oh, by the way," piped up Reyes, "would you happen to know where the boss lives?"

"Yeah; over by the left, then to your right, take another right and just keep going till you see a room. You'll know it when you see it."

"Ah! Thank you so much; you are too kind!" The conveyor belt operator smiled and nodded in acknowledgement, receiving a handshake for his troubles as the duo made their exit.

Reyes soon found himself taking Garra out of his ball as his walk became a run down the dimly lit corridor. Connor trailed behind, his advance much more timid. While it wasn't quite the stairwell, this corridor did not afford him much breathing space. Each breath he took was a laboured one squeezed through seizing lungs, his heartbeat thudding through his rib cage, bouncing and echoing from wall to wall. Ronnie's smaller size meant that the tight space affected him far less, but Connor's little metal friend was nevertheless stirred by _something._

Darkness obscured the end of the corridor. Around the bend, anything could have met them. Whatever it was had them trapped, too; they had no means of escape. What were they to do, take the fight to the miners? Run back up to the police? Oh, the police; were they being followed in? What if one of them caught on and seized the mine searching for them?

Reyes stood against a wall to catch his breath, waiting for his companion to catch up. "Are you good, Connor?"

"Y-yeah, all good for me. You know, uh, y-you're pretty good at this, I guess."

This drove some light onto Reyes' face. "Hey, you're doing great too! We shouldn't be in here for very much longer, I'd imagine, hang in there."

Connor tried to smile at this, in a desperate to keep his mind off the sound of imminent, faceless footsteps around the shadowed, ink black corner. Ink blackness pierced only by a beam of bright light.

"…Connor, is everything okay?" asked Reyes, before his attention was caught by Garra, rumbling like a tractor engine. Then the footsteps. Then the light. "Oh. Stay calm, Connor, don't worry; I've got this."

Reyes did not, in fact, have this, as became apparent when the footsteps were revealed to belong to some security guards. Neither of them could discern how many there were, partly due to the burning magnesium white torch shining directly into their retinas.

"Oi! What are you two doing down 'ere, ya little toerags?" spoke one of them with such intensity it almost blew Connor off his feet. "You don't look like miners to me; scram!"

Reyes unbuttoned his top button in reply, standing tall and rugged as Mount Coronet. "Ah! Please forgive us," he began, "for we don't mean any harm — we're just having a look around, is all! By the way, whereabouts does the boss live?"

"Are you deaf? Piss off!"

"That's not very nice!" With a most displeased frown on his face, Reyes recoiled, sizing up his foes. "Besides — if we're being truthful, I don't think _you_ _'re_ legally supposed to be down here either." His hand shot out of his pocket with a Pokéball, aimed and ready to let loose at the guards facing them.

Connor's motion to do the same was brought to a stop by a realisation. "...Sorry, _either?_ _"_

Before Reyes could articulate himself, the guards grabbed the conversation by the neck. Connor had no doubt that as the two were out of grabbing reach with Pokémon at the ready, this was the next best thing. They took a couple of steps closer, thankfully revealing there to be only two of them, with the leader sheathing his torch. "You're trying to insinuate we're not real guards? That's just about the stupidest idea I've ever heard, and I hope you weren't seriously relying on it to scare us. But if you're going to act like little turds, the invitation to smash your Pokémon before we throw _you_ out is a welcome one, I'll say. Machop, go!"

"Stunky!"

"Very well. Baggo, I choose you!"

"Shoot! Er — Ronnie!"

Connor wasn't entirely sure how it was possible, but his Pokémon cut a more confident figure than him on the battlefield. The prospect of Ronnie against a trained Machop didn't exactly fill him with hope, in all honesty, and his last encounter with a Stunky was fresh in the memory — though he was lucky he had only been gassed and not sprayed then. However, there was absolutely no chance that he was risking Byrne in a battle between trainers quite so soon. So with all combatants on the battlefield, he figured-

"Stunky! Roar!"

He went stiff as a nail as the guards and the Machop covered their ears, with Reyes and Baggo doing suit. The Stunky locked onto Ronnie with its stabbing fangs bared, its jaw swinging open with beads of saliva dangling from the roof to the floor of its mouth. Just as the howl was about to let rip, however, Connor launched himself onto the floor, wrapping himself around Ronnie and covering his ears, ears that the Aron's arms were too stubby to reach.

"Connor, no-"

A roar as horrible as one hundred forks and one thousand knives scraping a shared plate ripped through the air, pummelling Connor's bare eardrums like an audial freight train. While Ronnie was, for the most part, left intact, his trainer was almost thrown to the other side of the room, ears screaming for mercy before drowning out all other noise. It took all of his effort to not join the chorus of screams, instead whimpering as he clamped down on his lips before his protests died out.

When he figured the attack had ended, his eyelids finally unclenched, looking around to see Baggo rush head-first into the Stunky. Through his stupor, he swore he heard Reyes's voice, yet his mouth seemed to be moving with nothing but undecipherable ringing coming out. His brain had become a thick soup in that skull of his as he made his way off his Pokémon, collapsing in a heap rather than standing back up. His brain told his mouth to call for a Metal Claw on the Stunky, though he wasn't actually sure if that came out until he saw Ronnie blaze a trail in charging the attacker. Connor had no idea those stubby little legs could carry something so heavy so fast, and even through his haze, he could see the steely swipe sending the Stunky flying back — if not out, then most certainly down.

He'd forgotten about the Machop, though.

The Machop that launched itself at Ronnie through the air, preparing a downward Karate Chop. _Oh no_. Connor fumbled around on his belt, pulling out Ronnie's opened ball and fumbling on the button, aiming, _oh please no, why isn_ _'t it working —_ fortunately, in the nick of time, Baggo came to the rescue. The Bagon tanked the attack with that great thick skull of his. Though it didn't knock the feisty thing out of action, it came damn close. Connor was certain he was seeing stars when the attack landed, turning his bruised head with its burning hot eyes and unhinged mouth to the Fighting-type and preparing a counter-attack.

Not wanting to put Ronnie through any more of this, he was swiftly returned to his ball, Byrne taking his place on the field. Connor couldn't help but feel that Byrne's reckless independence was a blessing here, as he was certainly not in the headspace to order his Pokémon about.

Indeed, before Connor could even speak, Byrne had descended upon the Machop in a maelstrom of flapping feathers and slapping wings. Quick work was made of the Fighting-type as it was beaten to the floor, its own flailing punches and kicks failing to even land on Byrne or register on Baggo, flailing like a madman.

He would have been happier with this. However, from the corner of his eye, he noticed what looked like the word "spray" escape the Stunky's trainer's mouth, as the Stunky reared up to both Byrne and Baggo. Before his mind could even register the idea of returning Byrne to his ball, and as it seemed Reyes had no intention of returning Baggo, Connor's legs, without his consent, set off in motion towards the Stunky.

Tactical (and olfactory) effects of this plan aside, it certainly had the advantage of throwing both guards off for long enough for Baggo to take advantage. It did not, however, deter the spraying. While it didn't touch Connor's jacket, the spray was unleashed on his poor jeans, just long enough for the Bagon to rush through his legs and bash his head against the Stunky's, knocking it clean out.

The euphoria of victory was very short-lived, with Connor having enough time to return Byrne and raise his fist before the smell set in.

Oh, the smell.

The _smell._

Connor froze with his fist in a celebratory pose as the smell set in. It smelt like he was drowning in a vat of sulphur, like he had been pelted by rotten eggs, and like he was in a room full of burning tires all at once. His eyes widened, pricked by acid tears. His stomach wrung itself inside out. One hand shot up to his nose and mouth, his cheeks filling up and his skin going a pale shade of green.

As ideas went, this had been perhaps his worst yet.

Grabbing the breast of his jacket and covering his mouth with it, he turned to the guards. Their macho demeanour had evaporated under the odious attack, and one turned to the other, who nodded; with that, they returned their Pokémon and ran off. How he wanted to do the same. How he wanted to just leave the mine, get clean, relax, watch the situation resolve itself, get his badge, explore the city and move on. But taking a back seat was not an option, and giving up was only going to upset everybody.

Reyes, meanwhile, had covered half of his face with his jacket; his face had gone similarly haggard and wide-eyed as he approached. If he had any semblance of a backup plan, he would have brought it out right about now. But he didn't. Nor was he going to run away and face the music of angry policemen and an angrier Gym Leader, now that he'd committed to this.

Turning to each other, they exchanging nods before soldiering on down the path.

* * *

Connor was hardly an expert on offices, but for what was a single room built into a mine, the boss' one felt very out of place. For every dollar that went into maintenance under the new owner, another went into this office, from the looks of things. Air conditioning blasted into his face as soon as he went in, sending shivers down to his bones. White light from above bathed him. It was a cold, white, fluorescent light that covered the entire room, right up until the towering mahogany bookcases at the other side.

Reyes made sure to leave the door open as he walked in. Neither of the pair dared say a word, or remove their jackets from their faces, for fear of exposing themselves to the stench that hung over them. They also didn't dare question why the room was so empty, either — what possible reason would the boss have to not be holed up in his office at all times, today of all days?

A thick book, locked and bound, sat in the dead center of the room on a desk. A chunky white computer sat on the opposite side of that desk, its body weathered, its screen dusty, its keyboard dirty. Beneath was a tower of drawers, wooden and apparently for personal use.

Connor turned to Reyes for answers. In reply, he glanced over at the computer, before grabbing the thick book and taking out a Pokéball.

 _Fair enough._

Plonking himself on the swivelling maroon chair, Connor pressed the power button with his free hand. The dim screen came to life, and with it a thick layer of incomprehensible nonsense. Error messages, programs not being able to run, bold text declaring "your PC is in danger!", and an unsightly amount of widgets as far as the eye could see.

"You have — _five thousand, six hundred and three_ — problems with your files. Please scan your computer," announced a fruity voice, and Connor went white in the face as he scrambled to put the darn thing on mute.

Reyes, meanwhile, had his own issues. He found himself digging through the drawers of the desk for a key. As much as he wanted to — and boy, did he want to — using Baggo or Garra to open the book would have seen the thing get torn to shreds. Besides, he wasn't about to let his Pokémon anywhere near the Stunky smell.

The key was at the bottom of the bottom drawer, because of course it was, because nothing was ever easy. Digging it out of the desk, Reyes was panting by the time he jammed the damn thing in the lock and opened the book. Which led to his next problem: he knew absolutely nothing about finances. Fumbling through the ledger, he had no idea what he was reading. Was that a normal amount of money to get from selling coal? Who were any of these people? What was a bar doing, making transactions with a mining company — okay, actually, _that_ didn't look right. His solution was to take a picture of every page he saw, but just in case, he took two pictures of that one before slamming the ledger shut, locking it back up, and throwing the key back in the drawer.

"Connor, you find anything?" he asked, finally gathering the confidence to remove his mouth from his jacket… and immediately gagging.

"N-no, there's just a bunch of dodgy stuff o-on the screen!"

Before either of them could do anything else, though, a terrible realisation dawned on the both of them.

The boss was coming.

Connor froze in his seat, his nails in his mouth, as it fell upon Reyes to think something — anything — that worked.

A bark echoed down the hall, closer and closer with every step this neatly-dressed man of about thirty-five took. "Hey! What the hell — what are you two doing in there?!"

Reyes sat on his answer for just a bit longer, turning to Connor and the computer as he came up with something.

The boss marched ever nearer, before standing just outside the door. "You have five seconds to answer me" — the smell reached his nostrils, forcing him to double over and hold his mouth — "Arceus, what's that smell?!"

Eyes watering, Reyes' look was nevertheless one of hope and triumph as he spoke. "We're the IT guys, er — nothing to be worried about! Well, er, we're new, we only just got hired — so we decided, 'hey, let's go pay the large man in charge a visit on the house, see if everything is in tip-top shape,' because, you know, what with everything being on fire… we figured you could use it! Don't worry about that smell, please, by the way; friend here got sprayed by a Stunky on the way in. You, ah, you wouldn't happen to have anywhere he could wash his jacket, do you?"

Trying to get a read on the boss as he thought about this, clearly a little skeptical, Reyes resisted the urge to even touch one of his Pokéballs. Connor didn't want confrontation, and so neither did he — therefore, this simply had to work. It couldn't _not_ work.

"…Oh. I see, sorry about that." He took out a notebook, jotting something down before throwing it in Connor's direction. "Go show that to the policemen outside, let them know you have my permission to be in here, and go wash it in tomato juice or something. I'll stay here with, er…"

"Reyes."

"Ray, okay?"

Finally, a reprieve for Connor. He scanned over the scrawled handwriting — "10TH OCT. IT GUY, STUNKY SPRAY. WILL" — before he turned to the boss, who neither frowned nor smiled at him. Reyes looked okay with this, happily nodding at him, although something seemed to upset him about the boss. He nodded at the two, before darting off like a bullet, jamming the note in his jacket pocket as he did so.

Once Connor was out of sight and smell, the boss took a deep breath. "I must say, you IT guys are a different breed sometimes. Wonderful creatures. Shame we never see your folk around. Now that you're here, I'm really glad you came; I think my computer's a bit… y'know, broken. Take a look at this."

Huddling around the computer with the boss, Reyes saw the problem that Connor had come across — and, to his credit, he had made progress. However, the screen was just too full.

"Oh. Oh, see, I see the problem —" what was a problem computers had? "— bad anti-virus software, that is. First, what you gotta do is you gotta get rid of all these damn pop-ups. Now, this may take a while, but you just gotta keep clicking on those Xs until they all disappear. Just like that."

"Er — wait, actually, keep that one open to one side for now." The boss was firm in his assertion as he gestured to something on the screen. "Hot singles in the Oreburgh area, eh? What do you reckon? You down for some of that, eh?"

"I… don't think that's for me, boss."

"Hah! Your loss, idiot."

As Reyes finished sifting through the trash on the screen, he found himself asking just how much the boss knew about computers. He was no master hacker himself, but surely nobody was dumb enough to fall for _that?_ If he fell for that, then just what else would he fall for…?

A look of concern on his face, Reyes turned to the boss. "You, uh, you wouldn't mind if I had a look at your emails, would you? It would be a real shot in the face if you accidentally downloaded one of those Porygon or something from a hacker. Wouldn't hurt to be safe."

"What the hell? No, you can't look at my emails."

Reyes hovered the cursor over the red X on the sole remaining advert. "Come on, chief… think of the hot singles."

Like a gun had been pointed at his least favourite Pokémon, the boss rolled his eyes and relented. "I'd dock your wages if you weren't…" he began, before composing himself. "Fine. You win this one, you ass. Hand the computer over."

"Many thanks." Somehow, this had inexplicably, actually worked. While the boss' back was turned, focused on the screen, his fists clenched in joy. Breaking out into laughter proved ever more tempting.

Until he heard a familiar growl approaching. One that stirred the boss.

"Roark?"

 _Oh dear._

Reyes turned in that direction, just eking out a welcoming smile and wave.

"You," growled the royally ticked off Gym Leader as he stormed into the room, practically punching the door open. "Why the _hell_ didn't you listen to me? Did you not hear me when I said 'stay out of that mine?!'"

"What, him? You mean the IT guy?"

Roark could have sworn that burning hot magma seeped from his face as he went hoarse screaming. "He isn't an IT guy, you cretin! He's a complete moron who completely ignored Gym Leader's orders, and he has a lot to answer for up there! _"_

"Answer for? Ah, you have this whole thing all wrong, friend! I've just been showing the boss how to fix his computer, isn't that right?"

He paused for thought. "Hmm… well, I have to give you credit for that. This guy knows his stuff, after all."

In his seven years of being a gym leader, and sixteen of being a miner, he could only remember one thing that made him want to tear his face off and jump into the ocean more than this. It was just Roark's luck that that thing happened last night. Taking a deep breath through the nostril, he crossed his eyes and leaned back against in a dismissive fashion. "Okay, then; what's a midi file?"

"Good question! It's… well, uh… you know, it's a — it's a, what do you call it, it's a thing, isn't it?"

The Gym Leader flared his nostrils, his stare at Reyes unbroken. "Yes. It is a thing. Could you be a bit more specific?"

A "Nnnnnno?" squeaked out, before something went off in him, biting his lip and flaring his nostrils. "Okay, you know what — no, this isn't fair! I was only trying to help you! This guy here, he saw the massive crowds, standing around with peaceful chants and catchy slogans, and what the hell did he do? He hired more people! What you were doing, it wasn't working — so I got involved, and I was _this_ close to pulling it off — but no! You just had to get involved, didn't you?!"

The boss turned to face Reyes, puzzled. "You mean… you're not an IT guy?"

"What sort of computer guy looks like _this,_ you idiot Spoink?!"

"How old are you?" asked Roark.

"Eighteen, but I really don't see—"

He smiled. The fluorescent light reflected from his glasses in such a way, his eyes could not be seen. "I appreciate the sentiment, kid. I really do. It's noble that you're trying to help. But, as much as I wish it did, the world doesn't work the way you think it does. Trust me on this one — if you can't do diplomacy, and you can't handle yourself like an adult, then not only will you get yourself hurt, you'll get innocent people hurt. Good people joined me up there in that protest, good people that the police didn't have reason to attack until you decided to get involved. Good people that got hurt because of you. And in good conscience, as a Gym Leader, I can't let that fly; absolutely not on my watch. If you'd pulled off that cute little trick with a more powerful Pokémon, Arceus only knows who would have got involved."

"And if I had wheels, I'd be a bike! Besides, you're a Gym Leader! You make your living off violence, don't you? It's your _duty_ to stand _all the way up_ for what's right, or else you're making the League an absolute sham!"

"Oh, trust me, it's already a sham — what would you know about the inner workings of the League, anyway?"

The verbal melee was interrupted by the boss' fist pounding the desk. "Both of you, get the hell out of my office, right now! I certainly don't know how the hell you plan on getting things going again by throwing words at each other, but you're going to have to explain it to security — who should be on their way, right… about… now."

Sure enough, footsteps forced their way into earshot seconds later. Many footsteps. Certainly too many footsteps to be bumbling security guards — this was either a standing army or a mob. A mob of furious locals, familiar faces that Roark knew, and faces that knew Roark. Faces that had been up there to march with Roark, to stick it to the boss, to save their mine. Indeed, their footsteps were accompanied by cries of "SAVE OUR MINE! SAVE OUR MINE!"

The most significant of these faces was not calling out for Roark, but for Reyes, as a matter of fact — a face that towered above most of her peers, eyes shadowed by the pitch black shade of a pizza delivery cap.

"What the hell…?" spoke both Roark and the boss in unison.

Reyes was rendered significantly less speechless by this, the serious scowl that plagued his face replaced by a look of ecstasy and relief. "Oh! Hey!" he cried out, stepping out of the office and calling out. "Hey, Lucia! Come in! You'll know what to say!"

The front of the crowd stopped around her, turning all eyes to her. But she was not deterred by this — no, she relished it. A wry smile breaking on her face, she cracked her knuckles before making her way through the crowd and into the office.

"You dumb twink, you actually got somewhere. I'm impressed."

The boss, however, was not. "Wh- what's the meaning of all this? Did you know about this? Sorry, who the hell are you, a pizza delivery woman? Where's security — screw this, I'll call the police if I have to!"

"You're going to call _more_ police than the ones we got past to get in?"

On this spectrum of being impressed, Roark fell somewhere in the middle. He was, however, deeply confused. "…We? As in, the folks out there, the marchers?"

"…Yes, who else? Reyes, I have to say, you're not half bad — I managed to get out of work because of what happened — like, everyone, and I mean _everyone,_ was going at the police. There was a big scuffle, few people got hurt, but eventually, all the people you see behind me came through; police just scurried off, I guess."

This tided over Reyes somewhat. "Oh, that's good — er, did you happen to see Connor while you were on your way in?"

"Oh, I smelled him, that's for sure. He was a bit shaken, but he wasn't hurt, and I think he was being escorted to the Center when I saw him."

"Alright!" he replied, granting himself one single fist pump. "In any case, though, I did not understand much in the ledger — but I have pictures of what I may found — and I _almost_ got onto the computer, but the Gym Leader here juuuust decided to step in at the last moment, before I could access any shady stuff. Because he didn't think violence was the answer, did he?"

Roark went red in the face, steam escaping through a nervous chuckle. "Haha, oh, you are the absolute worst — well, I still don't appreciate you disobeying me, and _people did get hurt,_ but if so many people were okay with fighting the police then I don't suppose I'm left with much of a choice but to say go ahead, y'know, am I?"

It was Lucia's turn to look profoundly unimpressed. "Go ahead with what?" she asked, glaring at Roark. "Do you think the boss is just going to magically hand over his emails?"

"Finally, someone with some sanity!" The boss looked around at everyone, before looking back at his monitor. "These are confidential company emails, you're all insane if you think I'm gonna let any of you see it. I'm a person; I have my right to privacy!"

As soon as these words left his mouth, the other faces in the room recoiled in disgust. For the first time, as Roark and Reyes' eyes met, they agreed upon a consensus before Lucia began to speak. "I'm sorry, you said those are company emails — the company isn't a person. Unless you mean to say that you _are_ this company — in which case, you're hurting real people. And Pokémon, too — I'm no trainer, but even I can tell you those damn nurses have been working overtime recently, all because of you!"

"Oh, please, you're being ridiculous. Without someone to run everything, there would _be_ no company, and my duties of running it do not include showing absolute nobodies what needs to be hidden!"

Reyes stepped in. "Needs to be hidden? Could you sound more guilty if you tried? You're not making a strong case for yourself, and if I need to kick your ass, I will!"

"Fine, then I suppose I'll just have to delete everything first—"

Without hesitating, Roark grabbed a Pokéball, unleashing his Cranidos. Reyes did the same with Garra.

"You're threatening me?"

The Gym Leader did not waver as he stared down the boss, fist clenched. "Don't think I won't kick your ass on behalf of the League — on behalf of my people — if you don't get it off that chair in five seconds. Four. Three…"

The realisation that the boss had no security to call on, and two seconds before two Pokémon (and probably the most muscular person he had ever seen in the flesh) went to town on him all played a major part in his decision to launch himself off his chair and begin to make his exit.

Before he faced down the horde outside.

Reyes crossed his arms and turned to the boss, whose heart raced as he laid a hand on the door. "Where do you think you're going? I think it would be for the best if you stayed here with us until we say you can leave."

As the boss accepted his fate, Roark chanced upon one email of interest sent by the boss, simply titled **Funds,** to an account simply labelled "Spoony's."

 _To whom it may concern,_

 _I have been told to email this account to inform you that the shipment should have reached your contact. You should receive a follow-up email about this from them; in any case, please find attached account information. I expect to receive payment in the next few days._

 _Many thanks,_

 _Will_


	15. See No Evil

_**Author's Notes:** Thank you all for your readership in 2018, and I hope you all have a good 2019. As a late Christmas present, I made this FFN-exclusive meme for my regular reviewers: imgur .com_ _/a/I2JgVo2._

 _Also, I do not own_ _Pokémon, nor do I own the song "See No Evil" by Television, to which this chapter owes its name._

* * *

 _ **21:07**_ _ **— October 17th, 2007 — 8 days until October 25th**_

If one were told to picture a seedy bar in downtown Jubilife, more at home among the rows of houses and odd pawn shops than the TV station and office buildings, and that bar just so happened to be a mob front, Jerry imagined that the result would have been a spitting image of Spoonie's. The Jerry of old spent a lot of time there, with Jimmy and Paulie, and the Jerry of now would freely admit that quite a lot of that time was spent against his will. It was the very embodiment of the life he'd left behind and had no real intention to return to.

Of course, that didn't mean that he didn't miss _any_ of it. Sure, his _immediate_ cohorts in the mob were far from ideal drinking buddies, with Paulie rattling off conspiracy theories about the moon being a hologram or Mew being the Pokémon League's secret plan to keep dissenters in line while Jimmy bragged about his hauls for the day and lampooned the cops, and One-eyed Terry and Bozo Mike with their sandpaper laughs and old Arcanine, reminiscing of the good old days the table over while Sandi and Freddie served the rounds and treated their patrons like their ruffian children, and Spoonie himself manned the bar — that slick, grey-haired coot was a firm but fair bartender, never afraid to butt his head in to keep the peace by any means and never without a quip on hand when patrons got extra saucy.

That just wasn't him anymore, though.

The bell rung as he walked through the door at this late hour, underneath the neon lights of his old second home. The cheering that often greeted him and his colleagues was far more subdued, the odd whoop and raise of the glass coming from a smattering of tables. A dry smile spread upon his face as he looked over to the bar, to his stool — the stool with one leg shorter than the others, with a folded beermat taped to that leg's bottom to prop it up.

"Jerry," uttered Spoonie, transfixed as ever as he was on cleaning his glass. "Long time no see."

"I couldn't keep away for too long, could I, pal?"

A grunt. "I hear you've gone legit now, beanpole. Are we not good enough for you anymore?"

This got a smile from him. "Oh, please; I ain't one of the crew anymore, and I'm no alcoholic, neither, but that don't mean I don't miss this place," he replied, Spoonie finally making eye contact with him. "And don't even get me _started_ on good ol' Bibby, neither."

"See, you're even doing us wrong by your old starter Pokémon. You're terrible, and you're killing us, you traitor."

It had only been about a week since he'd seen Spoonie last, but it felt like months since he'd been on the end of one of those deadpan jokes. While not a belly laugh, it certainly got a grin and a loud exhale from Jerry as he hushed his voice. "Hey, listen, so… the company did get in touch with you, right?"

"Aye. I'm gonna be honest, Jerry, under any other circumstances, I wouldn't trust this one _bit._ And you know how shady this whole thing seems, right?"

"Right."

"But you know what? You're a good kid, Jerry. You ain't gone as legit as you may think, let me tell you that much, and you're still you — dumb as a stump, no offence, and I love you for it. You couldn't scheme your way out of a paper bag. So I'm willing to hear what this deal is."

A piece of Jerry died inside as he took a deep breath, figuring out how to phrase this. He had a gut feeling that this news wasn't going to go down well, that this new Jerry — the one who'd grifted enough to get himself off the streets — and his proposition would get laughed out of the bar and kidnapped a week later. "Okay… so, y'know the whole get-up you've got going on with Birkenhead's mine in Oreburgh, right?"

Spoonie's face went paler and flat. "…Go on."

"Uh… listen, I know you may not like this, but… the company is offering the gang _so_ much more money than they can — like, we're talking nine-figure sums here, Spoonie — if you're, uh… you're willing to send a little, er, tip to their boss to some of the guys on the Oreburgh police force, perhaps let the investors know about the little… misappropriation of funds that the boss has going on."

The bartender was now completely stony in his face as he locked eyes with Jerry. "Oh, so you're asking me to rat out one rich guy for some other rich guys? Asking me to get involved with dirty cops and all that — Jerry, I'm gonna be one hundred percent frank with you here: I don't like this one bit."

"See, don't think about it like that. I can promise that it ain't the rich guys you're doin' this for, _really._ Think about it like this — you've seen how the news has been today, right? You know about all the crap going down there, you know how that slob treats his employees, and you've seen how mad they are about the whole ordeal. Now, imagine how indebted they'd be to ya if you did the right thing for 'em — with that guy gone, and the board under pressure, you'd be puttin' them in a real good position to have some negotiations and get what they want, right? Think about it that way. And I'll tell you what, actually — if you want, I can even put in a word with the guys at the company, let them know to give you a cut of the money, too; whatever it is that you want, name it."

"You've been out of the mob for a week, and you're already speaking like one of the rich guys. Gods, Jerry, what's gotten into ya? Where's the guy who used to come here all the time and get drunk with his pals, sticking it to the man instead of working for 'em?"

Biting his lip, Jerry was given pause for thought as he gave a dryly remorseful look at Spoonie. "That just ain't me anymore. I'm sorry. But I'd really appreciate it if ya did this one thing, boss, and then I'll owe you a favour and get out of your hair. I don't wanna make my boss mad; nobody would want that."

"Alright, alright, fine," said Spoonie, the well of warmth in his voice run dry as his eyes met Jerry's with scorn. "I still don't like this one bit, but I'm a nice guy, so I'll lend a hand — and I'm getting paid for this then I don't really see a reason not to. But I won't forget the favour you owe me, guy, and if anything goes south about this… oh, believe me, I don't think _our_ boss would like you too much, either."

"Thanks, chief. I promise, if anyone tries to screw you guys over, they'll have me to answer to, trust me."

Spoonie hung his head down toward the glass he was in charge of washing. "I'll pass this onto Freddie. Consider it done within the hour."

"Ay, Jerry!"

Turning around, the ex-mobster was greeted by the big red nose that gave Bozo Mike his name. "Ay, what's up with you, pal?"

"Ain't seen you around here for a while, my guy; heard you're legit now!" chuckled Bozo Mike as he threw one of his jackhammer arms around Jerry's shoulder, pointing at him with the other.

Spoonie sneered at this. _'Legit' my ass._

* * *

Connor missed his jacket that night.

There were no ifs or buts about it, sure; it simply could not be worn as it was. It absolutely stank, and though he was grateful to get out of the mine when he did, the timing could hardly have been less convenient — and the stench that hung over him as he trudged back to the Pokémon Center was one of shame, bearing down on his back. The nurse on duty at the time was awfully nice, far more than he expected any reasonable person to be. After all, with everything else going on, he was _very_ skeptical that the sight and smell of a Stunky-sprayed boy moping in, unable to look at her through more than a gap between his clammy fingers. He had no idea how the rest of the people there reacted, though it was probably with disgust at this spectacle.

He didn't do much else that night other than wrap himself in more blankets than usual and watch some more Masked Rider to cheer him up, though he was mostly asleep by the time Reyes got back.

Rousing him from his slumber was a great cold lump pressing up against his face. Through his heavy eyelids, he just about made out Ronnie's big blue eyes right in front of him, with his arms wrapped around his cool, steel body. A slightly concerned series of chirps and grunts met him as he woke, and Connor could not muster up more than creaking and a weary, woozy smile as he replied.

"Hey buddy…" he mumbled, tapping that great steel head with affection. "Uh… did I sleep in?"

"Good morning, sleepyhead." Reyes was much more spritely at this hour than his companion, prying himself away from the comb and mirror to give him a wide smile as he peered at the top bunk. "It's half past ten right now, so you should still be able to get breakfast if you're hungry."

"Oh, uh… morning, Reyes." Half past ten. That made it twelve hours of sleep, and yet Connor was still absolutely exhausted. "Er… I'm not really hungry right now, s-sorry. Did I miss anything last night?"

"Yeah — oh, the mine, you should have seen it; I made the _best_ IT guy. And then Roark and Lucia came in and gave up the game, but like… trust me on this one, I don't think we'll be seeing much more of that stupid, terrible boss in all honesty. There'd be less dirt on him if we buried him alive in a farm!"

"Mmm, that's good," mumbled Connor before looking straight at Reyes, regarding him with the utmost sincerity his very tired face could offer. "Hey, uh… listen… I-I'm really sorry about what happened in that battle the other day. It really should have gone better, shouldn't it…?"

"Oh, don't worry about it too much; we all make silly mistakes when we're just starting out, and you did a good thing! I'm sure that Starly of yours is grateful that you took that spray for it. Besides, you didn't ruin anything, don't worry about that; everything still went off without a hitch, and… I mean, think about it like this, you smelled so bad that you even made the security guards get off the case. You're fine, my dude!"

Reyes' sincere look and warmth as he spoke certainly went some way to making Connor feel much better about the other night. "You… you mean that?"

"Of course I do!" he replied with a grin. "Why wouldn't I?"

Though it felt silly by now, Connor wasn't expecting such a catastrophic failure to go down so well — it didn't even feel like a catastrophic failure, come to think of it. He was so blissfully caught off-guard by this that he couldn't even bring himself to protest when Reyes' warm hand gave him a firm yet friendly pat on the back.

"O-oh… hey, uh… th-thanks, Reyes."

"Anytime, friend; don't mention it! Say, I'm going to be heading out in about half an hour, do you want to come with?"

"…Sure."

With that, Connor clambered out of bed. As he did so, Reyes decided to switch on the TV as background noise, flicking through the channels to see whatever was on. A cartoon, presumably about a very small and very lost Joltik; Jubilife TV's news, currently discussing the meteor in the Battle Zone; a cooking channel, with so much butter on screen Reyes reckoned he'd have a heart attack just by watching it for too long; the local news, with something about the boss' arrest — _hold on, what?_

"Hey, Connor, have a look at this."

"Hm?"

Upon the TV, a mugshot of the boss, wearing a resigned frown with his neat hair and eyes devoid of emotion, came up on screen, followed by images of the marches yesterday, shots of Oreburgh's gym and other such pictures.

"… _arrested earlier this morning for what the police have said is 'involvement in a money laundering operation,' and although Birkenhead Mining has yet to release a statement on the matter, they are expected to do so at noon. The arrest comes the day after employees of the mine, including Oreburgh's Gym Leader, Roark Swanson — who has announced he will not be leading another march today, and is expected to make a further statement on the matter later today — went on strike in protest of working conditions, clashing with police forces yesterday and gaining entry into the mine — it is believed that multiple arrests have been made, and so far there have been six reported injuries, but it is unclear how the miner's strike and police investigations into the matter will develop. Violet Stone, reporting from Oreburgh Pokémon Center."_

"Really? That quick? I didn't even know Roark had gone to the police about it yet," mused Reyes, deep in thought as he glanced over to Connor. "I mean, I'd have expected it to be a couple of days, not, what, fourteen hours later?"

"Er, I mean, that… that is pretty odd, I suppose, yeah. But I mean, at least the whole kerfuffle about the mine will start to die down, right? I imagine things won't be as bad from now on — oh, shoot, I should send Murphy an email about all this, actually; he said to let him know how things were doing."

"Eh, that is true. Should we pay a visit to Lucia later and see what she has to say about all of this?"

"S-sure, I can do that."

With that, Connor went about getting prepared for the day ahead, throwing on some clothes to nip out and be reunited with his jacket. His warm, clean, and considerably less stinky jacket. Once back in the room, he sat around watching the news and checking on his Pokémon (who were both doing very well, although it seemed Byrne was particularly grouchy this morning) before it turned eleven.

"Alright, Connor, you ready to go?"

"Yeah," he replied, returning Ronnie to his ball and climbing down the ladder, "lead the way!"

Making sure the room was in a respectable state, the two made their exit.

* * *

The bell rang as Reyes and Connor walked into Gianluigi's for lunch, immediately taking a seat at one of the few empty tables. Business was better today, the best it had been since they arrived in town, which made talking to Lucia about the boss more awkward than Connor would have liked — especially because she seemed to be in charge of waiting duties today. Nevertheless, it was still a pleasant sight.

As soon as she noticed they were there, Lucia went over to the table and laid her hands on them. One look at her face and Reyes gathered that she'd heard about the arrest already — and she seemed pretty pleased about it, too. "Alright, my shift's over in about half an hour; you guys good to talk to me about stuff then?" she asked, her voice straining to be quiet.

This was welcome news to Reyes. "Of course!"

"Good. Now, are you ordering anything?"

"Yes, I'll just have a small pepperoni pizza."

"Uh, I guess I'll just have a cheesy thing then, please?"

"Any drinks?"

Reyes looked to Connor before answering. "Just water for both of us, please."

"Alright, cool. Should be about twenty minutes."

"Roger that. Thank you!"

As they waited for their food to arrive, the pair talked about Pokémon to pass the time, with Reyes seeming pleased that his relationship with Garra seemed to be improving — "really cutting down on the biting recently," he remarked, "and I'll bet some of it's down to you, you know!"

"O-oh, I… er, thanks, I mean — that's good to hear! Does he still hate being in a ball?"

"Yeah, but I think he's getting used to it by now — although, I mean, now that I say that, I know he's gonna try taking my leg off or something while we're training."

As he answered, Reyes' attention briefly trailed in the direction most people's had — towards the TV, switched to the local news. Roark was on the screen, surrounded by microphones as he stood outside his gym.

"… _given the events of this morning, I am pleased that, though not quite for the reasons I had initially hoped, justice has been appropriately served. Given also Birkenhead Mining's recent statement, that they are willing to open up a dialogue with us miners to sort out the mine, I am hopeful that we can end this strike soon and go back to work at our mine. In the meantime, there is no longer a reason for me to stay away from my duties as Gym Leader of Oreburgh, so, effective tomorrow, I will be returning to the League. I welcome my duty to give the trainers of this wonderful region a chance to earn their stripes. No questions."_

There was a smattering of applause as this news came out, Reyes included in this. It also put a smile on Connor's face, too. Sure, he hardly had all the time in the world to get ready, but at the very least he was going to be taking on a Gym.

So soon after he came back from strike, too, and what if his involvement in the whole thing came to light — _no pressure, Connor, only gonna be the whole city looking towards you_ _…_

The food arrived, and the pair chowed down on it, having a grand old time as they did, with Connor even putting a slice in his backpack as a treat for his Pokémon later. (Of course, that was unless it turned out cheese was bad for either Aron or Starly — he'd have to check on that…)

Soon enough, it was just as they'd finished eating that Lucia clocked out of her shift and immediately went over to the group, taking a seat next to Reyes. "Right, so… first things first, I owe both of you thanks. Reyes, I don't know how it's possible to be both a complete idiot and an utter genius at the same time, but if my understanding of what happened last night is right, then I'd have to say you fit that description very well. Couldn't have done it without you."

"Well, thank you very much! The same could be said for you, showing Roark what for."

"Please don't try anything like that ever again, though. Take acting classes or something. You're a horrible IT guy."

Before Reyes could even begin to articulate a reply, Lucia looked over to Connor. "I owe you thanks too. Sorry about the whole Stunky thing, but you did good — got those guards away and all, and you even bought Reyes some time, too. I don't know many trainers who would take a spray for your Pokémon, but I guess your friend was right; you must be good with them."

"Ah — aw, shoot, th-thanks. Fingers crossed I won't ever have to get sprayed again, am I right?" laughed Connor.

"I hope you don't either; that stuff reeks. For trainers, you're both pretty cool."

There were few things Reyes liked more than being called pretty cool. "Thanks! You know, I don't think you'd make a half-bad trainer yourself, if you don't mind me saying. I get that you have stuff on your plate at the moment, but I mean, you certainly have the drive for it, and the heart, too — and I mean, look at you! I don't think anyone would wanna mess with you, y'know? You should really consider it!"

"I would love to, really, but it just isn't practical right now," began Lucia, seeming to deflate as her tone took a world-weary turn. "Like, Pokémon are just really fucking cool, aren't they? And I'd love to have some of my own, go around Sinnoh with them and do all the gyms, fight the League, but I just don't know if I can right now. I have a job and stuff, I help my dad and I earn money for it. Besides, Oreburgh isn't all too bad, really. Could think of worse places to stay. But hey, if my circumstances change and I get the chance to, then I'd totally do it, and hey — you're not bad guys, I'd love to meet you two again someday with this friend of yours."

The notion that Florence considered Reyes a friend made him chuckle, but he soon laughed it off. "You know, the same to you, in any case, I'm just glad we could help — and besides, I think we're in town for… what, the next six or seven days? Gotta beat Roark and get back to Jubilife by the 25th — we made a bet with someone, and if we win, she's said she'll travel with us; I think you'd like her, actually, but I digress. If you need us for anything else while we're in town, I'd be happy to help!"

Before either of them could say anything, though, the bell rang as someone walked through the door, followed by rounds of applause and cheers, and the group turned around to see Roark walk in, identical to his TV appearance minutes earlier, hard-hat and all. Bowing to the cheers, he noticed the group out of the corner of his eye and smiled and nodded at them.

Connor's heart stopped. Did Roark, a Gym Leader, just smile in his direction without him even doing anything, and was he coming over to sit with them — oh goodness, okay, so he was. Connor blushed, scooting over to make space on the bench.

"Oh, thanks!" said Roark as he took the seat, with what felt like a mile of bench between him and Connor. "I'm not disturbing anything here, am I?"

"Not at all!" Lucia beamed at the Gym Leader as he took a seat. If she was surprised, she certainly did a good job of hiding it. "Thanks for the help yesterday, Roark!"

"Oh, please. If anything I should be thanking you for _your_ help, really — all three of you. Even you." Connor was a bit thrown off by this; he hadn't expected Roark to be so bubbly and enthusiastic after the events of the past several days, and he seemed genuinely happy, too… although there was at least a bit of contempt in his eyes as he looked at Reyes.

"Just glad I could be of service, you know — and, uh, sorry about the whole disobeying of your orders. Although you can't deny, I made a good IT guy, right?"

"No. But I guess I can forgive it. If it seems stupid and it works, after all, it isn't really stupid. I don't know if there's anything in that noggin, but please use it next time; even if it doesn't get you thrown in jail, you're going to end up giving someone far less merciful than I a heart attack. As for your friend, I don't think we've met in person, have we?"

 _Oh gosh, is he talking to me_ _—_ "E-er, n-no, I, ah, I d-don't think we have, b-but, er, my dad works with you, at the mine, a-and, and I know that this may sound a bit dumb, b-but, uh, you're my favourite Gym Leader, and—"

"Woah, it's okay! Slow down! You're okay, trust me. You're Michael's son, aren't you? I saw you with him recently, and I don't know if you remember, but he took you into the mine sometimes when you were way younger — just when I was starting out, actually. Connor, right?"

 _He knows my name?!_ "Y-uh, yeah, yeah, I'm Connor."

"Well, Connor, I must say, I'm really thankful for your help down the mine. I get that it wasn't your idea to go down there — and for future reference, I personally would advise against doing stuff like that in future — but I heard how you dealt with that Stunky spray, and how helpful you were in that battle. You should be proud of yourself, really."

Connor really wasn't quite sure what exactly there was to be proud of, but nevertheless, if his friends _and_ a Gym Leader commended him for it, then he must have done something right. "Aaah, th-thank you!" he spoke, definitely louder than his normal volume (which definitely wasn't a voluntary thing.)

"Don't mention it. And if it means anything to you, your dad talks about you sometimes, too. I hear him talk quite a lot about how his son's going on an adventure — and I believe your starter is that Aron from the mine, too, isn't it? Are you looking after it?"

"A-ah, er, y-er…" began Connor as he was stricken with a mighty case of the jitters, chewing on his nails as he tried to string together a coherent sentence from the scores of thoughts bounding around his brain. He laid one hand on one of the balls on his belt before continuing. "Er… yeah, er, h-his name's, er, his name's Ronnie, and he's doing, he's doing good, yeah; I'd get him out, but y'know, this is a restaurant, I don't wanna disturb anybody…"

"That's fine. I guess I'll be seeing him at the gym, then — though I do hope you're not just relying on him, in any case. I look forward to battling you!"

Connor didn't need to be reminded of this, and he really would have liked it if he had another Pokémon in his arsenal. But at the same time, he already had enough on his plate as it was, between getting Ronnie gym-ready and getting Byrne to actually like him; catching and training another Pokémon in such short time required another plate entirely.

"You know," said Lucia, "I am surprised the police dealt with it so quickly. That's not like them at all."

"Oh, me too" — Roark went hushed — "I mean, I only called the police about it _late_ last night, so I don't know who the hell was looking into it, but I'm not complaining about it!"

Connor thought this was a bit strange. His mother was a police officer, and he'd watched plenty of police shows; it seemed a bit unusual that something like money laundering would go from initial report to arrest overnight — and did Roark say he called the police about it?

"What — er, what did you find, exactly? What did you show the police?"

"The boss had some emails with Spoonie's — I think that's the bar in Jubilife — where he was a bit too up front with his, uh… financial dealings. So I took some pictures and emailed them to the police."

 _Spoonie_ _'s is involved in this?_

He was probably just being paranoid, but something was a bit odd about this. With all the talk of the boss' role in this, he had seen absolutely no mention of Spoonie's in the news. Not even a passing mention — and he hated to eavesdrop, but he hadn't heard anyone near him say a thing about Spoonie's up until now.

He made a mental note to email Murphy about all of this later that day. Just to make sure he didn't forget, he made it his top priority as soon as he got back to the room.

To be _doubly_ sure, he stuck a pin in it.


	16. Fearless (1)

_**Author's Notes:** I do not own __Pokémon (that's Game Freak's thing), nor do I own the Pink Floyd song "Fearless," to which these chapters owe their name._

* * *

 _ **06:49 - October 18th, 2007**_ _ **— 7 days until October 25th**_

Murphy's cereal was going to go soggy at this rate.

A growing orange light danced through the blinds as he sat in his rickety old chair, listening intently while Rotom's crackling voice went through Connor's email. Truth be told, he wasn't sure what to make of it. Sure, Connor had gone into the mine and got involved in all of that against his wishes, but going off his grovelling tone ( _"I'm really sorry for getting involved in the whole thing," "I didn't want to let my friend or my dad or anyone down," "I'll make sure it doesn't happen again,"_ and so on) Murphy easily forgave him. It seemed a well-intentioned mistake, and nothing more.

What did interest him, though, was one minor detail Connor brought up:

" _Roark said that the boss was emailing a bar in Jubilife, called Spoonie's — I think it's one of the shadier ones in Jubilife, though I can't really corroborate that with anything other than stuff I overheard at school and walking through the area so often. Roark also said that he emailed the police with the pictures late last night, and the arrest was early the next morning, but I haven't really heard anything about anyone from the bar being arrested (or anything at all about them, really). I've not looked into it, and I've only been skimming in and out of the news while I've been training, so I might be wrong, though."_

A quick web search showed that he wasn't — there was nothing of the sort about Spoonie's. No news about any arrests, or links to the Birkenhead arrests, or anything to do with the Jubilife situation. Looking at Roark's public statement, it seemed he had washed his hands of the situation now that the boss was out of the picture; there was not a mention of Spoonie's there, either. A look at the bar's reviews was, at first glance, just as fruitless. Spoonie's appeared to be little more than a mediocre bar in an unfortunate area of the city, and the reviews reflected this. _"Food was okay," "service took a little longer than I'd hoped," "too much pepper on my bread", "reasonably priced"_ — just the usual.

Something did catch his eye, though. The most glowing review he came across was one dated from August 15th of that year, left by one Will B.:

" _Came here for a little work do the other night. Absolutely brilliant place, and I'd recommend it to all of my friends. Food was wonderful; particularly enjoyed the rib platter, though the appetizing bread had no right being as good it was! The staff were lovely — didn't expect tips! — and we even got some drinks on the house! :-P Spoonie himself is a real chill dude, too, and the place is worth a visit if not for one of his legendary jokes. Definitely check it out whenever you're in town!"_

"Say, Rotom — does something seem off about this to you? You wouldn't happen to have a date on when Birkenhead took over, would you?"

" _I can certainly check… *BZZZZT* according to the internet, their takeover was announced on August 16th, and effective from *BZZZZT* September 1st."_

"Six weeks and things went south that quick? I almost feel sorry for him!" Though hearty, Murphy's chuckle was as wry as a Zoroark and dry as a stone. "But Rotom, I'm not sure to make of all this. Help me, if you will."

It might have just been the old thing's speakers, but the voice from the laptop sounded just as uncertain. _"What's the issue?"_

"If all of this is true, then it is a bit suspicious that this 'Spoonie's' hasn't come up in all this, don't you think? And considering how quick the arrest was, too."

" _*BZZZZT* I can see why you're suspicious, James, but that is a very big 'if,' isn't it? If it is true, it does raise some questions, but *BZZZZT* this is all coming from one email and a review on a website."_

"Rotom, surely you're not dismissing him, are you? You've read the email; what impressions do you get about the person who sent it?"

Following a particularly drawn out _"Weeeeelllll…"_ there was a constant faint buzzing noise before a reply came. _"Young adult trainer who rambles a lot and uses long sentences; perhaps he was nervous about emailing you? *BZZZZT* Asks a lot of questions, often about Pokémon or how training for the league is going — seems deeply enthusiastic about both of these."_

"Precisely — oh, and please remind me to tell him thanks, too. But I've met him, and going off his emails, I'd say both of those are about right. Doesn't seem like the type of person who would make something up, does he, Rotom?"

" _Well, when you put it like that… *BZZZZT* not at all, James!"_

"Good. So we're on the same page?"

" _Of course!"_

"That's what I like to hear!" yelled Murphy with such an enthusiastic fist pump, one would have hardly guessed it wasn't even seven in the morning. While the enthusiasm remained, the cheeriness dried up as the pair deliberated what to do next. "So, Rotom, any ideas? Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

" _I suppose that depends on what you're thinking, James — which would be…?"_

Murphy stopped to rub his chin in a moment of thought, before pointing a finger to the ceiling in a silent eureka moment. "Perhaps Spoonie's is part of some larger operation. A front for something, perhaps — and this operation, whatever it is, has some influence on the Oreburgh police force. A few crooked cops, maybe? I'm not sure, but whatever it is, if it has an outreach so big that police officers a city over can bend to its will, it can't be good. But for some reason, I'm very doubtful indeed that anyone is going to look into this — and if they have folks on the force in Oreburgh, no doubt they have them in Jubilife, too. So perhaps it's time to do a bit of investigating on the side, Rotom, don't you think?"

" _Wait, *BZZZT* investigating? You have the *BZZZZT* league tournament in a month and a *BZZZZT* half, are you *BZZZZT* sure you'll have the *BZZZZT* time?!"_

"Hah! Rotom, don't be silly; I always have time for justice! You never know, it might be a two-in-one; we get to have an adventure, do some mystery solving, and fit some training in if we get to fight bad guys — I don't know about you, but I love a bit of intrigue! Besides, it gives me an excuse to get out and see how some of the newer trainers are doing, y'know? At the very least, now I have an excuse to check up on Connor and company."

" _But what if you get hurt?"_

This was certainly not the response Murphy expected, and he felt bad for laughing about it. Giving his laptop a consoling pat, he spoke with a steadfast smile as he looked into the camera. "I promise I won't — fingers crossed, trust me on this, okay? Besides, it's not like I'll be doing this alone. My friends can easily help out if needs be."

Rotom knew better than to try and stop the professor when he was like this — that booming voice that bubbled like burning hot magma, the white-hot glimmer in his eyes, his arms gesticulating like a mime with a Joltik down his back. _"Well, if you promise, then… my job is to help you out in any way I can!"_

"Aha! I knew you'd say that!" said Murphy, bursting at the seams with excitement as he began throwing spoonfuls of soggy corn flakes into his mouth. "But first, my good friend, you know what we need to do?"

" _What?"_

"Why, reply to this email, of course!"

* * *

With seven days left to go, Connor stared head-on at the steep hill before him.

"Ah, shoot; Byrne, dodge it!"

Byrne could not fully slalom around the flurry of rocks, though. Some brushed his feathers, three of them hitting his crest and one his good wing. It certainly threw him off balance. He was soon back on both feet, though, shaking his feathers and hissing at the Geodude opposite. Neither rocks nor a dodgy wing were about to stop him from getting back at his opponent as he rushed over in a fit of flapping wings and hysterical screeching-

"Wait, no-" bemoaned Connor, before grabbing his two Pokéballs. "Byrne, come back! Ronnie, Metal Claw!"

The battle was ended swiftly.

The giant clock that hung over Connor ticked away. Every tick served as a reminder of the work to be done.

Ronnie plodding by his side, Connor wandered out of the tall grass deep in thought. Focusing the bulk of his training on Ronnie over the coming days was an option. After all, the Steel-type was the key component of his team when it came to facing down the Rock gym; it made sense to be absolutely 100% _extra_ sure that Ronnie could survive the whole battle. But in the long run, that wasn't quite fair. Ronnie was not the only member of his team, after all.

"Connor? Stopping so soon?"

Reyes had torn himself away from Baggo causing havoc in the local Pokémon community to check on his friend, and Connor felt obliged to reply. "Yeah, I just gotta think a couple of things over is all."

It didn't even feel like a moment before, Reyes was right at Connor's side, Baggo's reign of tiny blue terror on hold for now. "I can help with that if you want! What's on your mind?"

"O-oh, I don't wanna be any trouble if you're training…"

"Nonsense! I could use a break, anyway; it's hardly like I'm going to miss anything spectacular. Is it to do with Roark?"

Connor thought about this, taking a deep breath before he replied. "Well, yeah. I don't really know if I'll be ready in time, honestly; there isn't a _whole_ lot of time and I still don't really have much of a plan, y'know? And I don't really know if I can come up with one, honestly…"

With a less-than-subtle swivel of the wrist, Reyes' hand clutched his chest. "That's _absolutely_ false, Connor, and we both know that! You're a clever guy, and you have the Pokémon for it; besides, the gyms are there to help your decision-making skills! And this is only gym one, so it's hardly like you need to rewrite the Art of War, is it?"

"N-no, but… I'd like to have at least a _vague_ idea of what I'm doing before I head out, you know?"

"You do, though, don't you? You said yourself you don't really have _much_ of a plan, so you do have a place to start, which would be…?"

"Well, er… what I was thinking was, like — Ronnie's sturdy, right? So I could use him to soak up the damage from Roark's Pokémon and deal it back out, b-because he's a Steel-type, and he's strong enough for that, right? But I don't want him to take 'em on alone, so I wanna have Byrne break things up. Have him harass and wear down the more agile Pokémon before having Ronnie them down, if you get me? But I need to think of the ins and outs of it; like, what about Byrne's bad wing, or what _counts_ as agile, or even ranged attacks-"

"Woah, woah, you're way overthinking this, Connor! I like what you have so far, but… for now, let's stick to the basics, alright?"

Connor rubbed his chin. "Uh… okay, I can do that."

"So, from the top, what do you have so far?"

"W-well, have Ronnie take on Roark's more mobile Pokémon… then have Byrne switch in when the heavier ones and give Ronnie breaks to rest while his Pokémon get worn down."

This earned Connor a thumbs up. "Now, Roark's team; do you know what's on it?"

"Geodude, Cranidos and… Onix?"

"I see. So which of those would you say count as Roark's more mobile Pokémon?"

"I would have to say Onix, for one; those things move pretty darn fast, and they're really long, aren't they — but I mean, were I to take a guess, Roark is probably going to be leaving Cranidos until last, because that's his strongest, but pretty, what's the word — very suited for close quarters fighting because of that giant skull and lack of naturally learned moves, so I think… would it be right to switch in Byrne when that Cranidos comes in?"

"What about Geodude?"

"With all due respect, I'd assume Geodude will be his first Pokémon, because it's the one… not really 'weakest,' because, y'know-" that would be mean - "it's the least suited to battling, a-and I can probably, _probably_ stick with Ronnie on that one, too, because it's not like Ronnie has never faced a Geodude before, given the past few days?"

"Sooo… how will you go about sequencing things?"

Connor paused, drumming his legs with one hand and speeding up the chin rubbing with the other. "If it's Geodude-Onix-Cranidos, stick Ronnie on for the first two Pokémon, possibly let him have a bit of a go at Cranidos, give him a rest… let Byrne have a go at tiring out Cranidos, before letting Ronnie finish it. If it's Onix-Geodude-Cranidos, probably do the same? And if Cranidos goes first, alternate between the two until I can get a rhythm going, y'know? Do you think that would work?"

A knowing smile lit up Reyes' face as he snapped, pointing a finger gun at Connor. "I think that'd work perfectly if it's what you're happy with. You know, I don't say that you are really smart with Pokémon for no reason, friendo."

"Ah - um, th-thanks; you're pretty good at stuff, too!"

 _Smooth as a rock, Connor._

"Oh, yeah, I forgot to ask; did the professor get back to you?"

"He did, y-yeah; he was a bit… y'know, 'good on you for helping but like, possibly next time make sure you know what you're getting into,' I guess? Which… is fair, honestly; anyway, there was that and he said training was going good and said thanks for asking. He said he might even be in Jubilife on the 25th, so… uh, y'know, if it's not too much trouble, we could pay him a visit?"

"Hey, that could be fun! I'd love to meet the guy!"

"Sure! I'll try and pass it onto him, then!"

With that, Connor returned to the fray. He ran over his plan in his head a few times, making sure he knew it, making sure it made sense, making sure he had a mental note to put it on paper as soon as possible.

The rest of the session passed without incident, though it didn't exactly alleviate Connor.

* * *

Connor felt like he was pushing a boulder up that hill, with five days left to go.

"Byrne, dodge that! Counter with a Growl!"

In a whirlwind of flapping wings and wayward limbs, Byrne escaped the flurry of flechettes that the Geodude hurled at him. By the skin of his teeth, granted, but it was an escape nonetheless. This was followed up with an ear-piercing shriek, screaming like feedback from a broken microphone that faced its unwilling audience head-on.

Its brain may have been in the stratosphere, but this did not stop the Geodude from retaliating. No, the creature clenched its fist and cannonballed itself at Byrne with a yell. Byrne, in turn, flapped towards the sky, lifting himself up for all of fifteen seconds, safe as he let out another piercing yelp.

All of this made for assuring viewing for Connor, until Byrne was hit by a thrown rock. This drew a wince out of Connor, sucking in air through ashamedly gritted teeth.

"Ah — uh, Byrne," he stumbled, grabbing at his grounded companion's Pokéball, "good job! Ronnie, hit 'em Metal Claw!"

With an obliging squeak and two swift movements, Ronnie obliged. The Geodude's disjointed, arm-flailing attempts to fight back barely left a dent on his thick steely head before it was swiftly left unconscious, sprawled all over on the ground.

Heart withdrawn from his throat, Connor left the battleground to check on Byrne, fearing the worst. A deep breath in and a deeper breath out as he reached onto his belt, scrambling to think of an apology to his surely wounded Pokémon.

As soon as Byrne's talons touched the ground, he was off. Lunging, pecking and ready as ever to unleash his feathered fury on nothing in particular. When he realised this, his brow furrowed as he let out a confused tweet, flapping his wings and turning to Connor.

"W-wait, um-" began a similarly confused Connor as Byrne flapped back over to his feet, ego apparently bruised more than skin. His feathers were ruffled, and there was a smidgen of discoloration on his crest, but none of this was going to stop him from fighting on.

"…Huh."

The next thirty minutes of Connor's life were taken up by training alternated between Ronnie and Byrne, punctuated by the odd check-up and potion spray to make doubly sure his Pokémon were right as rain. For the most part, it went off without a hitch. It seemed that Connor's frequent cooing and checkups frustrated Byrne more than anything, frustrations that were swiftly let out on the battlefield. In this session, Connor encountered two more Geodude. The first was left entirely to Ronnie, the second loosened up by Byrne before his colleague finished the job.

As the session wrapped up and Connor went back to Reyes, he decided to check his emails. He was greeted by one message from Murphy, who seemed to be doing well. Pictures of a well-groomed Empoleon and Infernape accompanied a summary of a couple of battles with fellow prospective league entrants that he had participated in over the past few days. Battles that had, for the most part, been comprehensive victories, barring one with one of his friends on the circuit that had come inches from being a defeat — which, he was quick to add, "was the most valuable of them all."

* * *

Connor was throwing all of his might into pushing his boulder up that hill, with two days left to go.

"Byrne, dodge and Growl!"

The knife-edged stones summoned by the wild Geodude were easily dodged, with Byrne hopping to the side and burst into unbearable birdsong. To avoid the follow-up Rock Throw, Byrne made lift-off, furiously flapping towards a nearby tree branch. Though an off-kilter pebble or two made contact with his chest, the Starly was able to make it his perch, free to screech and caw at his foe to his heart's content. He even managed to get a third, disorienting growl out before more stones made their way to his branch.

Flying to the opposite side of the clearing, however, was a task just too far. The stamina expended by his flight was simply too great, Byrne just missed the branch. Just as it was in touching distance, his vigorous flapping failed him. His flight became a dive as he banked back towards Connor, who began to fret as the Geodude, wits now mostly about it, prepared another attack.

Without hesitation, the squawking Byrne was returned and Ronnie was off to put a stop to proceedings.

This Geodude was not downed in a single attack, though. As it balked at the cold metallic slash against it, it let out a shrill shriek over in the direction of the thick foliage before it was knocked over and forced to retreat.

As Ronnie hobbled back over to his trainer, earning a pat on the head for a job well done, Connor decided to check on Byrne. The wee beast was released from his ball, standing at Connor's feet and tilting his head as his trainer knelt down towards him, getting a better view of the creature.

"Byrne, are you good?" he cooed, gingerly putting his open palms to Byrne, who replied with grumbling, esoteric coos as he stretched his wings. This was met by Connor's fingers, hesitant as they ran up and down against his puffy crest.

"Th-that's good; good job out there!"

With a grin, Connor returned Byrne to his ball and headed back to Reyes once more. As he walked, he got to thinking. Testing out his team on wild Geodude was good and all, and he had experience against trained ones too… even if it was just the one battle. However, a Geodude trained by a Gym Leader was a different thing almost entirely. It was hardly like Roark's Geodude was the hardest thing he was up against, either.

"Hey, Connor!" spoke Reyes from against a nearby tree. "Did everything go well? Do you think you're ready for the gym?"

Was he? "Maybe? Possibly? I think so?"

"Hey, even if you're unsure, those are all positive-sounding! How about that plan, are you confident you can pull it off?"

Connor pondered the question. _Me? Confident? Good one._ "I suppose so? Obviously, I'd need to wait until I have practice on things that aren't exclusively Geodude, but it could definitely be _worse_ _…_ " he replied. It certainly could have been better, too.

"Hmm. Well, if you're down for it… I wouldn't be against doing some sparring with you, to test things out. You know? I get that Dragon-types are really not the same thing as Rock-types, and please forgive me if it sounds like being thrown in at the deep end, but… you know, the best way to know if you're ready to go to war is to see if you can dodge bullets, I suppose?"

While Connor wasn't 100% confident in his battling, he was absolutely certain there was a better analogy for his current situation. In spite of that, there were certainly worse ideas — and he was undeniably curious to see how Reyes battled in person. On the flipside, there were definitely better ideas, too. Throwing his Pokémon against a Gible and a Bagon with temper issues, each with quite a lot more experience, was a baptism of fire if ever there was one. Testing his team's progress was a good idea, risking getting them seriously hurt… wasn't.

"So, are you down?"

"Oh, sorry, I-I'm just thinking about it."

"That's fine! It's fine if you don't want to, Connor; you don't have to say yes."

But Connor did not want to say no, either. Not least to his friend. Besides, this was probably as good an opportunity as he was going to get. If he was to swim, there were few better places to test himself than diving into the deep end. "Alright, er — I can do that, yeah. How are we doing this? Is it just a two-on-two, or-"

"Oh, I was thinking a two-on-one. See, I don't want you to drown here, so I'll refrain from using Garra here. Baggo, though, is probably quite similar to what you'll be up against with Roark's Cranidos, right? They're both quite ornery things in battle, and they're both pretty heavily reliant on close quarters battling; actually, if we wanna be specific, they'll both be using pretty similar attacks, I would assume, although I'm still trying to perfect Baggo's headbutting technique — it's not quite there yet, see, and I figure this is as good an opportunity as ever to iron out any kinks, you know?"

"Yeah, I hear you." No Garra was a good sign; now Connor didn't have to worry about any Ground-type moves giving Ronnie a hard time. Baggo was no pushover, though; underestimating any Pokémon, let alone a Dragon-type, _let alone_ one that knew Dragon Rush, was a foolish decision. But was Dragon Rush on the table here? To be on the safe side, Connor figured it was best to assume the answer to that was "yes" and-

"Basically just do what you'd do against Roark, okay?"

"O-oh, okay."

"You ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be."

With that, the pair took their positions, taking five paces away from each other before turning around with Pokéballs in hand. "Baggo, out you go!"

"Alright, Ronnie; let's do this!"

Each combatant entered the field, rearing to go as they stared each other down. Ronnie stood tensed and resolute as Baggo kicked up dust, grunting and growling as he stared down the end of his snout, snarling eyes meeting his opponent.

"Baggo, prepare for an attack and Leer at 'em! You won't let yourself be moved, will you?"

"Ronnie, um… Metal Claw!"

On his trainer's command, Ronnie charged down Baggo with all the momentum his little legs could grant him. As he rushed forward, his attention was drawn to Baggo's head, with that expression straight out of an old cowboy western. He threw his gaze elsewhere to avoid meeting it as he slashed at Baggo's chest.

"Okay; now, Baggo, Bite!"

Ronnie's aversion to looking at Baggo left him off-guard, then, when the Bagon's Ursaring-trap jaws clamped down on his head. Connor went pale watching as Ronnie yelped, recoiling before retaliating by smashing his head into Baggo's chest hard enough to smash a rock. This knocked the wind out of his sails just long enough for the Aron to harden his shell, regaining his bearings.

Reyes was quick to make his thoughts on this known, as he threw both arms in Baggo's direction. "What're you doing?! Why are you just standing around? Don't give him time to breathe; Leer at 'em, again!"

Connor was almost as enthralled by his partner's spaghetti arms as he was the actual fighting. Still, he wasn't quite convinced by what he saw. Ronnie was still staggering about after Baggo's first attack; moreover, he still hesitated to look the Bagon in the face. He was dubious that leaving Ronnie on the field much longer would lead anywhere. "Mud Slap!"

With a thud, Ronnie's forearms dug into the earth and flung it into Baggo's face with a whack. It left the Bagon caked in mud and growling, reeling his head back and preparing to unleash a swinging headbutt with ten tons of force behind it. Before he could do so, though…

"Alright, Ronnie, good job out there; Byrne, your turn!"

Like a pitcher, Byrne's ball was hurled onto the field. Before it landed, Byrne, unleashed, flapped in the air as he unleashed his most discordant birdsong yet. Baggo could not look past the solid sea of red that clouded his vision as his growling grew more ferocious, before his meaty little legs sprung into action, charging headfirst towards the Starly. It was to his unpleasant surprise that Byrne relocated to a nearby tree branch.

This did not stop Baggo from using a Headbutt attack. Far from it. Connor's heart stopped when he saw Baggo take his anger out on the base of the thick oak tree. He could have sworn he heard it begin to crack from the force of the blows; each impact could be felt twenty-five feet in the air, as soon Byrne began to wear himself out from his very flappy balancing act. His hissing, knife-on-plate growling never stopped, though.

Nails in his mouth, Connor could only watch. He had absolutely no idea who would lose composure first, the screaming Starly that clung onto his tree branch for dear life or the angry Bagon with what must have been the thickest skull ever seen.

As it turned out, it was the latter.

Any semblance of rhythm in Baggo's attacks soon flew out of the window. Before too long, the tree was no longer shaking as each attack grew less forceful and more uncoordinated. Connor was almost confident about this for the briefest of moments… before Byrne decided to leave the branch, landing right by Baggo's side in a song of wry tweets.

"Oh! Wait, no-"

He made a grab for Byrne's Pokéball, unable to bring himself to watch as he got it in his hand, and-

"Hey, Connor, that's no fair!" called out Reyes, sarcastic gravitas drenching his voice. "You didn't tell me Byrne knew Double Team?"

"I- what?"

When he looked back up, there were four or five Byrnes circling Baggo. It was a bit of a weak illusion, admittedly; Byrne's bad wing was still holding him back and only one of the Byrnes wasn't phasing in and out, but it had Baggo fooled for the briefest moment. Connor watched on, impressed… before Baggo stopped being fooled, anyway.

"Headbutt!"

 _Oh, no no no no no-_ even with his rhythm thrown off, Baggo's disoriented, furious headbutts still took their toll on Byrne, more than Byrne's arhythmic Wing Attacks; in mere seconds, Byrne had gone swirly-eyed and sporadic in his attacks. Before he could even speak, Connor fumbled the button on Byrne's ball, returning him. "Er - Ronnie! Harden and hit them with Metal Claw!"

Though still tottering and foggy, Ronnie stood firm once more on the field as his steely coat hardened once more before he charged at Baggo.

"Baggo, Leer and Bite!" hollered Reyes, shooting a finger in Ronnie's direction.

Baggo's best Clint Eastwood expression had come back, but this time Ronnie was less affected. He wasn't going to let it get him down this time. His stubby metal leg dug into Baggo's soft underbelly once more, and once again, Baggo, screaming bloody murder, clamped his jaws around Ronnie's head. But this time, he was far less emphatic and forceful. This was less of a bite and more of a nibble, in reality, and strained breaths escaped Baggo's teeth as he withdrew his teeth from Ronnie's steel head.

By this point, Baggo's legs were quivering jelly, his knees wobbling as his arms were the only thing stopping him from faceplanting. Ronnie also quivered where he stood as he cracked his neck, his head swaying out of time with the rest of his body. This did not mean either party was about to let up, though.

Reyes stroked his chin, puckering his lips. "Alright. Connor, fantastic job; I think you're ready to take on Roark. But whether or not you're able to _win_ depends on how you deal with any aces up his sleeve. Like this: Baggo, Dragon Rush!"

Connor went stiff in his shoes as he shouted his next command. "Ronnie, please! Get out of the way!"

Screeching as he went, it seemed as though Baggo was on fire as he came at Ronnie like a tropical storm, the ground seeming to shake with each step the angry dragon took. However, the dirt was still in his eyes from earlier, and his head was still all over the place from all the noise and the fatigue of the battle as it dragged on; by the time it had hit him Ronnie had shuffled to the side, it was too late. Reyes could only offer an impressed nod.

"Headbutt!"

"Baggo! Bite!"

Baggo practically leapt at Ronnie with his mouth hinged open, like a jack in the box with hammers for jaws. Jaws that clamped around Ronnie's head for the briefest of moments, before Ronnie threw his head into Baggo's chest with enough force to knock him to the ground. Connor was panting by this point as he watched Ronnie, eyelids barely open, went prone and lay on his stomach, keeping his eyes on Baggo, _just_ _in case_ he got back up.

He did not.

"Good job, Baggo; back to your ball!" In spite of his defeat, Reyes wore a smile on his face as his feisty little friend was withdrawn from the battlefield.

Connor, meanwhile, was off to give Ronnie the hug that was becoming a tradition by now. "Hey, you did a really good job out there, buddy; I'm real proud of you, okay? G-get some rest tonight, you hear me?" he murmured with a grin as Ronnie buried his head in his trainer's chest, making happy grunting noises.

As Connor sat, Reyes took a seat next to him, putting a hand on his far shoulder. "You did great out there, Connor. I don't think Roark'll know what hit him, honestly."

This was high praise indeed, and Connor went a little pink in the face as he looked to his battling partner. "D… do you mean that? You think I can beat him?"

"Well, you beat _me,_ and I don't just whip out Baggo and his Dragon Rush willy-nilly. You saw what Baggo did to Hawley and his team, too, right? I'm being deadly serious when I say this: you are a _very_ good trainer."

Connor didn't think this was quite fair, in all honesty; Reyes' battle with Hawley had been a two-on-two, and was more of a street fight than a friendly sparring session. But on further reflection, he didn't think it was fair to assume Reyes wasn't giving it his all, either. Heck, even if he wasn't, that his team could come out of such a close battle victorious was definitely a good thing.

"Thanks, Reyes, uh… you're really good at this, too."

It had only been about two weeks since Connor set off, and it had been a very odd two weeks with many ups and downs. Connor was not sure how many of the downs were his fault, though there were definitely a fair few. But the cast of travelling companions he had attracted, human and Pokémon, meant he must have been doing _something_ right.

Connor was certain this boulder was getting over that hill.


	17. Fearless (2)

_**07:22**_ _ **— October 24th, 2007 — 1 day until October 25th**_

Seven in the morning was no time to be awake for the small and sprawling bag of creaking bones, tired eyes and drooping brown hair that inhabited Connor's bed. It was a bad habit of his; sure, if he were a better trainer, he'd be in bed by half past ten. He would relish the alarm clock screeching inches from his sleepy head, because what better time to train one's Pokémon than early in the morning? Connor felt that there were certainly better times. Like after breakfast, for example. Or when he was on more than six hours of sleep.

But alas, today was Gym day, with a walk back to Jubilife thrown in too. Those six hours would not be joined any time soon. How come Reyes was already up and out, Connor wondered? What ungodly power possessed him to be up so early?

Rubbing the chapped and stinging skin on his fingernails against each other, he looked around. No matter how sparse it was, light wandered in through the curtains as dust wandered through the air. No matter how tired Connor was, life moved on and time hammered on. He had no choice but to go with it.

Kicking the pile of clothes to one side, he made extra sure the floor was spotless before giving the lump wrapped up in duvet a gentle nudge. "Hey. Ronnie," he mumbled, his voice barely beyond a hoarse rumble. "You gotta get up, buddy." The little creature crawled his way out of his nighttime home in the bedsheets and slid headfirst onto the ground as Connor got to his feet, clawing the curtains open a wee bit more (and wincing) before getting Byrne out.

"Alright, you two; er, are you both — Byrne, k-keep your beak out of Ronnie's face holes, please — you both good for today?"

Ronnie nodded as he swerved his body away from the prying beak. Byrne, on the other hand, was occupied with far more important matters such as making sure his colleague's face did not contain any unwelcome visitors.

"Byrne, please; you gotta stop that."

As though sweeping a steely dead body under a rug, Byrne met Connor with nothing more than an innocent tweet and an innocent gaze. Connor had placed his trust in Byrne as a member of his team; after all, what sort of trainer _didn_ _'t_ trust their team? Still, he could only hope Byrne had his stuff together on the battleground.

"Ronnie, uh - do you know what you're doing with that whole Rock Smash thing?"

An extra-weighty nod came in reply, and Connor kept a close eye out for a few moments just in case Ronnie decided to test this move on a poor, unfortunate piece of furniture. Though, it never hurt to be _too_ sure. So Connor got an idea.

Throwing on a set of wrinkled clothes, his freshly clean jacket, and his backpack, Connor and pals were out at the back of the Center as fast as his tired little legs could carry him… and as fast as his groggy eyes could adapt to the morning sun as it crept over autumn's crimson haze, as long as it took for him to look around and make sure nobody was watching and ready to laugh at him. At least Byrne wasn't so caught up in trying to find edible bugs in Ronnie's face as he walked. Thinking about it, Connor realised he had no idea when Reyes would be back, and he was pretty sure that once he was back he'd be whisked off to get breakfast and get to the Gym, so whatever training this was had to be _quick._

Glancing between his two Pokémon, he gently gestured them back a few paces before speaking. "S-so… um, are you… you two up for a little sparring before the battle?" As if on cue, Byrne flapped towards Ronnie in a squawking tornado of black feathers, stopped only by Connor shooting a hand to his chest. "Woah, woah, woah; on my cue, buddy!"

Byrne's furious chest puffing and wing flapping returned to normality (if it could be called that) as his trainer looked to Ronnie, rocking slightly but still ready to go. "Okay - now, I'm not going to be calling out attacks here, just give you guys some instructions. Byrne, uh… treat this like one of those Geodude from the other day, okay? And Ronnie, I want you to mainly focus on using Rock Smash, uh - try and keep your attacks to mostly your head, alright? You won't get anything like this at the Gym, so… just try to avoid tiring Byrne out, okay? And, ah… other than that, you're free to do a bit of improvising here. Just try not to hit the building, okay?"

Ground rules on the table, he took a step back, cleared his throat and fought off a yawn in his throat as he said: "Go."

Without a moment's hesitation, a hideous rumble began to emanate from Byrne's lungs as he pointed his blank and beady eyes at Ronnie, his sharp talons digging into the earth beneath him as Ronnie buckled down. Lowering his center of gravity, he refused to break eye contact with his sparring partner as he wound himself up like a particularly heavy toy car, roaring before hurtling towards Byrne. However, Byrne made lift-off, and Ronnie found himself hitting nothing and with dirt on his face.

Connor began to dread that Byrne was about to declare the Center's newly painted red roof his new perch, when Ronnie tore up the earth beneath him in reply. Great pointed boulders launched like homing missiles at Byrne before he could land, thumping him as they made contact. Ego as bruised as his flesh, the aggrieved Starly screamed bloody murder as he bared down on Ronnie through the air, dangling those sharp claws behind him as he lanced at his foe with his sharp beak tearing through the air.

Like a batter faced with a feathery, angry ball, Ronnie arched back as Byrne neared, getting ready as he came into smashing distance. To Byrne's credit, he landed a slap on Ronnie's forehead with his good wing before a crack rang through the air. Contact had been made. It sent a howling Byrne in an arc through the air. Touching down in a cloud of dust and dirt, he lay like a sleeping Ducklett for a solid minute. Ronnie watched on, vigilant and concerned; of course, he knew better than to get close, in case that furious little bird had more to say with that beak of his.

He did.

Byrne dug his claws in and he hoisted himself up into the air, giving Ronnie his best feathery ax murderer look as he hovered a few inches into the air, drawing Ronnie in close before making several copies of himself in the air. It took Ronnie a moment to cotton on to what was going on, as he asked all the usual questions; why were there so many identical Byrnes? Which one was the real one? …Was it the one that was more opaque than the rest?

His suspicions proved correct. Another Rock Smash landed, but this time his two-footed landing was smoother. Shaking his feathers and cleaning his coat, Byrne's head felt like fifty kilograms. But that didn't stop him as Ronnie hardened up, preparing for another attack. This never came, for Byrne was off in the air in an instant. The Rock Tomb with his name on it veered off as Byrne stayed afloat just long enough to make it to a branch.

Connor kept a close eye on this, taking note of what he saw. Byrne was doing far better than expected; it wasn't long ago that his wings and foul temper kept him miles away from any battlefield. Now, though, he was a key component in Connor's plan for his first Gym. The question lingered, though; was he ready—

"Boo!"

"AGH!" Once Connor's heart was going again, he turned around with his hand clutched to his chest to see Reyes with a sandwich in hand and a devilish look. "You spooked me!" said Connor, his voice more a breathless laugh than a speaking tone.

Reyes was wry as a Salandit as he looked on. "Well, how else was I to get your attention away from the battle? How's your team looking; good for Roark?"

"W-well, I think so," he replied, looking back to the courtyard; Ronnie was trying to throw rocks at Byrne's tree branch, making a few shots before finally landing an attack that brought him to the ground. "Or I hope so, anyway; j-just been having one last rehearsal before we head off, y'know? Actually, I should, uh… one mo."

Pokéballs in one hand, Connor approached the battlefield with his other raised. "Alright, guys, I think that about does it for today. Good job, you two; uh… Byrne, good job with the Double Team, and you're getting better with your wing, too. Try, uh, try not to lose your temper and get physical against Roark, okay?" Byrne replied with a throaty coo as he tottered over to Connor, his good wing spread out more than his bad. "Ronnie, keep up the good work; if you knock your opponent over, make sure you try and capitalise on it, okay?"

With both of his Pokémon giving an affirmative, a smile and a blush crept onto Connor's face as he dropped into a squat with his arms spread out, engulfing Ronnie. (Byrne had yet to cotton onto the whole hugging thing, apparently.) "Team, let's, uh, let's do this, okay? I believe in you both; let's go kick some butt."

Ronnie returned the affection with one of his trademark nuzzles, Byrne watching from the side. With that, Byrne was returned to his ball and Connor was off to Reyes with his starter in tow.

"You ready, Connor?"

"As ready as I'll ever be. Let's go."

* * *

Much like his mine, Roark's Gym was dark and cavernous. Stalactites clung onto the twisting grey ceiling and each side of the path to Roark was uneven, laden with rocks. The closing of the door, and each footstep the pair took, echoed from wall to wall of the domed lair. At the front of the gym stood a desk manned by a bored young woman whose fingers drummed her cheek and the open book on her table; Reyes took the incentive and approached the desk.

"Welcome, how can I help you?" she mumbled, glancing up at the two. "You two here to see Roark?"

"That we are, ma'am; I hope we're not bothering him, or you?"

"No, of course not; can I take your names?"

"Certainly! I am the great Reyes Vasquez, and this here is my best friend, the equally fantastic Connor Murdoch!"

An eyebrow raised, she looked up and down at the two, apparently not sure if she was hallucinating. Nevertheless, she glanced down at her book, eyes following her finger. "Oh, yeah, it says you two are already registered. I think Roark's free now, so just go on up. Good luck."

"How thoughtful of him! Alright, thank you!"

All that stood between the two and Roark was the narrow, jagged path up to Roark. No trainers to hinder them. No physical obstacles to clear, barring the great ramp to the field of battle. Nothing. Yet even if he wanted to, Connor could not turn back now; going back on the bet _now_ of all times was simply not an option. There were no ifs or buts about his situation; he had to be ready, whether or not he wanted to be.

Reyes glanced to his side, glancing at his colleague. "Connor, you alright? You've slowed down a bit."

"Hm? Oh, I'm fine. I think."

"Just checking. You've got this, okay? I'm sure you'll do fine."

"I, um… yeah, you're right. Thanks."

Connor's sudden spring lasted two steps before he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Connor," said Reyes with renewed gravitas, "I believe in you. You've worked harder than most on this, and first Gyms are the easiest of the bunch. You'll be fine."

One half of a smile spread on his face. "Thanks, Reyes," he began, making sure his smile was genuine enough. "I'm sure you'll smash it, too."

"This isn't about me, though, friendo. I want to hear you say it for yourself."

"Say… what, exactly?"

"Say that you'll be fine."

Had he, though? Connor bit his lip, thinking things over. What if he wasn't fine, though? What then?

Deep breaths. He had to be fine. Or else there'd be consequences.

"Reyes, I promise - I solemnly swear - that I'm good. Please, don't worry about me."

This was what Reyes liked to hear as he looked on with a daring smile, beckoning whatever lay ahead to come at them. "Then let's do this, buddy! Lead the way!"

 _Lead the way?_ Had Connor been that enthusiastic, that'd he'd volunteered himself to go first? Well, saying no would have been rude. Biting the bullet, Connor accepted his fate and walked up to the battleground.

Greeting him was scores of lights from the roof, falling upon him as he stood opposite the Gym Leader. It took his eyes more than a moment to adjust as he raised a hand to his eyes. Only then could he get a read of Roark, one hand on hip and other protruding as its bony fingers pointed at the pair as a devilish smile fell upon his face. Beneath the spotlights, his spectacles glimmered, flooded by light; whatever expression lay behind them was inscrutable, unable to be made out. All things considered, however, Connor was not certain it was one that even dared entertain the possibility of defeat.

"I'm glad you two made it. Welcome to the Oreburgh Gym, trainers." Where Reyes' expression beckoned Roark on, it seemed he was more than willing to meet him. "I believe this is your first time?"

Connor nodded, eschewing words. That duty fell on Reyes. "Indeed it is, but that doesn't make us pushovers, by any means. As a matter of fact, good Leader, perhaps it is you who will be pushed over."

"We'll just have to see about that, won't we? Cheeky little so-and-so." Connor couldn't quite make out if this was a term of endearment or a biting indictment, and Roark's grunt through closed mouth didn't help affairs. "It's nice to see the two of you are relishing the challenge, though. I still owe the both of you a bit of thanks for that help in dealing with the boss, though, even if you went about it in the most pain in the arse way imaginable, don't I?"

"It got the job done, didn't it?" shrugged Reyes, the corners of his mouth retreating towards his chin as his eyebrows bounced up.

Roark's mouth went from closed to clenched shut. "Don't you just love being a thorn in people's sides? Anyway, it's my Pokémon's job to fight you folks, not mine." He went a bit less glum as his attention turned to Connor, standing in front of the two. "I'm assuming you're up first, then?"

 _Welp._ "I, um… I hope that's not a problem?"

"Oh, not at all! Now, I want to make the rules of every Sinnohan Gym clear before we begin, seeing as this is your first time: this'll be a single battle. I will be using three of my Pokémon, and you are free to use a maximum of three members of your team. I see you've only got two Pokéballs with you; you aren't going to pull some sort of surprise and call out a ghost from your shadow, right?"

Actually, that was a pretty clever strategy that Connor would have to steal if he ever had something he could do that with. But he felt a bit silly bringing a disadvantage in numbers to this fight, now that he was called out on it. "I… no, just these two. Nothing up _my_ sleeve."

"Bold strategy, if you ask me, but whatever floats your boat. Anyway, the fight will continue until one of us has no more Pokémon able to fight, and any Pokémon unable to fight must be returned to their ball. Deliberate failure to remove injured Pokémon from the battlefield will result in disqualification. Do you agree to all this?"

"Yeah."

"That's what I like to hear." His confidence exuded from his face as he tipped his helmet forward with his spare hand, before grabbing a Pokéball. "So all there is to say now is that I wish you best of luck."

He took one step forward, off the sidelines and onto the rocky, uneven field of battle. Connor took one look at Reyes, met with a smile and thumbs up, before doing the same.

"I officially declare this battle for the Coal Badge underway! Cuvier, let's go!"

Cuvier just so happened to be an Onix. Connor was aware that they were big on paper, but seeing one in the flesh was entirely different. He couldn't remember seeing any living thing so absolutely, utterly massive as the colossus that towered before him, each eye as big as a human and an open jaw that must have been five feet tall as it gaped. The uncoiled creature almost reached the ceiling with the massive horn atop its head.

This was quite an introduction to Connor's first gym.

"Don't get put off by how big that thing is, Ronnie!"

When Ronnie was on the battlefield, it was quite hard not to be put off by the gulf in size. A cold sweat ran down his back as he followed the Onix's body with his eyes. His neck was not long enough to meet Cuvier's stare. Connor dreaded to think how Ronnie must have looked to the beast before him; was he a speck of some sort?

While Connor was busy looking up and down at the Gym Leader's first Pokémon, trying to figure out where to even start, Roark took the initiative as he cupped a hand to his mouth and spoke first. "Cuvier, let's loosen 'em up! Screech and then Rock Throw!"

Even through the hands that blocked his ears, Connor's eardrums rattled under the sheer mass of Cuvier's war cry as it bellowed towards the pair like a twenty-foot trumpet from Giratina's realm. Still, whatever he was going through was probably nothing compared to what Ronnie was sitting through right now. He swore he heard a shriek cut through the harsh noise from Ronnie, with his back raised and limbs tensed. "Harden!"

Once he was pretty sure the noise had ceased — as sure as possible, as his ears screamed for respite — Connor removed his hands from his ears. He made sure that he'd remember ear plugs next time. He watched as Ronnie's hard metallic skin shone like glimmering silver beneath the swarm of lights, before a command for his next move came to the forefront of his mind. Before he could call it out, though, Roark spoke again with an order Connor was not keen on hearing.

"Set up a Stealth Rock around that Aron, ASAP, and follow that up with another Screech!"

Stealth Rock.

Of course a Rock Gym Leader would give his Pokémon Stealth Rock _._

 _Bother._

"Ronnie! Quick! Give 'em a Rock Smash to the chest - see if you can bring that Onix's head down to your level!"

Cuvier's giant tail bashed the ground, sending shock waves running through the earth between the pair as Ronnie went into motion. Fortunately for Connor, though, he could have sworn that Ronnie ran on high powered batteries as he covered the ground between the two in mere seconds, swinging his head back like a solid steel pendulum before bashing it straight into Cuvier's stomach with all his might, jamming it all the way in before any noise could leave Cuvier's larynx of its own accord. Instead, that noise was drawn out as Ronnie pushed further and further into Cuvier's rocky front, not a biting screech but an anguished howl as the beast doubled over. It took most of its might to keep its head from crashing into the rocky ground.

Of course, once Cuvier's head was at that level, right by Ronnie's ear, the desired sound came out. Ronnie was nearly sent flying by the volume of the sound; his brain bounced all around his skull as he hung on for dear life, trying not to give in to the horrific noise that surrounded him. A noise that was just cut through by a familiar voice, as Ronnie just mustered the might to pry his eyelids open and look towards his trainer.

"Metal Claw, while his head is down!"

Connor watched on from his side of the battlefield, unsure whether his words got through to Ronnie as he bit down on his knuckles, a frothing mix of anticipation and dread bubbling in his stomach. Cuvier needed to be dealt with ASAP. Under no circumstances could Byrne be switched into anything other than Roark's Cranidos with Stealth Rocks on the field. Yet with Roark relying so much on Ronnie's defences being lowered, he wasn't optimistic about the prospect of Roark's attacks. With this weighing on him, it was a tremendous relief beyond words when Ronnie, defiant and growling, began to raise one steely claw towards Cuvier's chin. In an instant, a mighty slash was unleashed, connecting and sending Cuvier reeling through the air, moaning in anguish as he smashed headfirst into the ground with such an impact that Connor was almost knocked off his feet from mere meters away; his arms waved in the most frantic of circles as he tried desperately to stay upright.

"Ah, crap - Cuvier, get up and Rock Throw! We can still get something from this!"

One second passed, becoming two and then three as Connor counted on his fingers. Ronnie got himself to a safe distance in the meantime, keeping his eyes peeled and on his opponent.

"Harden while he's down!"

Before the count of four, though, a grumble came from the pit of the giant as his massive body slithered across the ground before uncoiling. Chest, head, and composure severely bruised, he may have been downed, but he was most certainly not out. As Ronnie braced for impact with his metal coat going hard, Cuvier jerked his weary body upwards in a fit of rage, thrashing his head into the ceiling; with an almighty crash, tremendous boulders came loose from the crumbling ceiling, unleashed at Ronnie as they crashed down onto the ground around him moments later. Although they fell apart with some ease as they made contact with his metal body and protruding fin, he was still knocked onto his belly, forced to shake it off as he got back to his feet.

By now, Cuvier was rocking his giant head back and forth as his body swayed, his blinking becoming less rhythmic and heavier. The sight of this put Ronnie in a sprightly mood as he looked back to Connor with his eyes wide open and ready for directions. Nodding as he looked up at the wounded beast, Connor turned back to Ronnie with a newfound veil of confidence as he barked out one more order. "Let's put this round to bed, Ronnie! Metal Claw!"

Roark crossed his arms and puffed his lungs out, straightening his glasses before calling out once more. "Screech! We're not going down without a fight!"

Surging forward like a Pokémon possessed, Ronnie closed his eyes as he covered the ground between him and his foe in seconds. As Cuvier tried to unleash one final roar, something came up in his throat, and he could do nothing but cough to clear it. By that point, it was too late. His jaw hinged open, but he did not have time to let anything come out. Ronnie launched himself as far as his legs could take him with a claw sticking out and ready to be unleashed. As he crashed into Cuvier's long and winding torso, his sharp claw sliced at the layers of hard rock before him, making a nasty cut. The Onix fought for consciousness as his body was knocked over by the impact of this. But nothing came. Smashing into the ground, he lost consciousness as Ronnie stood atop him. Slightly fazed, yes, but victorious.

Before either trainer could do anything, Reyes took the opportunity to raise both hands in the air, whooping and cheering vigorously as he clapped. "Hell yeah, Connor! Get his ass!"

As Connor went pink, burying his mouth into the palm of his hand to mask his flattered smile as Roark shot a venomous side eye towards the side of the ring. "Good job, Cuvier; we can build on this," he said with no signs of deterrence in his voice as he withdrew his Onix. "Lyell, you're up next!"

Where the giant Pokémon once stood was now a Geodude. A bulkier Geodude than the ones he was used to seeing in the wild, mind, but at least there would be no Cranidos _just_ yet. "Ronnie, Harden, and brace yourself!"

"Hit that Aron with a Rock Throw ASAP!"

Pounding the ground at his feet into a missile, Lyell scooped a rock about the size of his body and held it in both hands, arching his arms behind his head and letting it rip towards Ronnie. Fortunately, Ronnie was up to meet this with his tremendously hard and shield-shaped head, putting all of his neck muscles into meeting it with his head. It took a moment for him to shake off the impact, however, and left a fingertip-sized bruise at the top of his head.

Connor was not about to take any chances after Cuvier had attacked his hearing and lowered his defences so many times, huge type advantage or no. "You hurt, Ronnie?" he called out as he fidgeted with his zipper, tugging it up and down. It took a load off his mind when his plucky little metal friend turned around to face him with a triumphant nod. Connor was certain there would have been a thumbs-up to go with that if Ronnie had any thumbs to speak of. Nevertheless, still not taking his hand away from his zipper, he bit his lip and nodded. "Alright, good; let's get this round over with. Metal Claw; don't let 'em get you up close!"

Roark had the demeanour of a man who was beginning to regret his decisions, though this did nothing to quell Connor's nerves. He was a Gym Leader, after all, and one hardened by years of workplace politics; he definitely wasn't a stranger to mind games. "Stay firm and hit 'em with another Rock Throw! Don't let that Metal Claw knock you off!"

Connor could not help but wonder if things were supposed to be going this well. By all accounts, they probably should not have been. Yet this did not stop him from pressing on. Nor did it stop Ronnie, determined as ever as he thundered towards Lyell with an outstretched claw and batted him with it, spinning his jaw into orbit. Once he was back upright and scowling as angrily as ever, Lyell smashed another rock over Ronnie's head, this time from point-blank range. This was crushed with even less effort than the last one.

Connor could not help but feel he had gotten lucky beyond words with his starter Pokémon. "One more and we should be good! You've got this, partner!"

Like a sixty-kilogram, one-foot-tall Palpitoad pouncing upon its prey, Ronnie leapt up towards Lyell with another slash, his arm emphatically connecting to the underside of the Geodude's head with the force of a very small truck that knocked the Geodude into the air. The limp Geodude hit the ground with a thud. He did not get up.

Watching on, Connor's hands moved away from his zip and onto his chin. Two of the good Gym Leader's Pokémon downed, one more to go, and Ronnie was still up and rearing for more, a tiny little tank with big blue eyes. He had to stop himself from launching onto the battlefield as fast as his legs could take him to give Ronnie the tight hugs he so deserved. "Ah… a-alright, Ronnie! Proud of you! Let's keep this going against that Cranidos, okay?"

It took Ronnie a moment to catch onto Connor's voice as the ringing in his ears began to fade, but it soon got through to him. He turned around in a heartbeat and plodded back to his half of the battlefield with a joyous little whistle.

However, with eyes narrowed and arms crossed, Roark was not deterred. Far from it. Any notion that Roark regretted his decisions was categorically missing from his face. "You're not half bad at this, Connor," he called out. "I hope you're not expecting to get through this Gym using just the one Pokémon, though. Are you?"

"Erm…"

"I've only got the one Pokémon left, so if you're going to switch out, now's as good a time as any."

For whatever reason, Reyes took offence to proceedings from the sidelines as one accusatory finger shot out like a bullet train. "Hey, that's not fair! Resorting to word trickery because you can't beat him _on_ the field — Connor, you don't gotta listen to him! You just gotta kick his ass on your own terms!"

Reyes definitely had a point, Connor thought. Roark would want him to switch into Byrne _now_ , with all the momentum in Ronnie's favour. He wasn't about to fall for that. But on the other hand… no, Connor could not afford to waste time thinking about the other hand; that's what Roark wanted, uncertainty! "A-ah, no, you can go ahead. I'll stick with Ronnie for the time being, thanks. Uh… good battle so far, though! I like what you're doing!" he replied as he stuck up the most uncertain thumbs up he'd ever seen.

"Rrrright… you do you, kid." Roark bounced a Pokéball up and down in the hand that did not inhabit his pocket. A Pokéball that was soon hurled onto the field with considerable gusto, the Gym Leader's voice leaving his mouth with the same force. "Hutton, let's show 'em what Oreburgh Gym is _really_ about!"

Roark's Cranidos, Hutton, may as well have breathed fire through his nostrils as he tilted his giant head, glaring down the end of his beaky snout at Ronnie with his jewel eyes and grunting as his noodly arms, claws bared, dangled in front of him. After a good moment or two of this, he decided to let his presence be known, unleashing a mighty roar from the pit of his rocky body.

As much of a sight as this was to Connor, who scratched the back of his palm with the skin beneath his worn-down fingernails, he wasn't thinking about giving Ronnie a break just yet. Because Ronnie did not want a break just yet, it seemed. Pumping one fist back and pointing with the other, fire sharpened his voice as he made a call. "Let's hit that Cranidos with a Metal Claw!"

"Show 'em they're dead wrong if they think we'll sit back and take it! Headbutt!"

Connor was intrigued by Roark's apparent lack of caution towards his type disadvantage. Nevertheless, he was relieved when Ronnie reached his target before Hutton in this head-on collision. His voice rumbling in defiance as he met Hutton's staredown, Ronnie's claw cut into Hutton's torso, stopping at his chin. Hutton's head was only knocked back as far as Ronnie's claw went, though; still wincing in pain, he replied with a roar straight out of the late Cretacious period before throwing his head back like a mallet with one thousand newtons of force and bashing it into Ronnie's.

Connor's expression grew dim as he kept watching; in spite of the type disadvantage, the crashing impact was so great that it forced Ronnie to take a good five seconds to regain his bearings… and even then, he still didn't have his full wits about him. The prolonged battle was taking its toll on Ronnie, it seemed. Besides, knowing Byrne, he'd relish the Stealth Rocks.

"I think that's enough for the time being, Ronnie; great job for now," Connor called out as he pulled out his Pokéball and hit the button on it with his thumb.

Except Connor didn't notice the absolute shit-eating grin that now called Roark's positively delighted face home.

"Hutton, Pursuit!"

"Wait, no—"

Without his consent, a ghostly groan came from Connor's throat as his hand dragged his skin down his face. Ronnie lit up in the light of his Pokéball for the briefest of moments, before Hutton crashed into his side with the might and weight of a ten-ton truck. His pained yelping rang through the arena. A yelp that faded as he returned to his ball, as Connor looked on in a state of awe-stricken horror. If this was a calculated decision, it was unfortunate that Connor was utterly terrible at maths. His hand scratched his neck as he seized Byrne's Pokéball, sending him out without a word.

Roark looked as though Connor had completely lost his mind on the other side of the battlefield. "A Starly? You're sure you want to do that?" he asked, as sincere as he'd ever been.

Just as soon as Byrne took his place in the arena and touched down on the floor, he shot back into the air screaming his lungs out. Large rocks rose from the ground and pelted his wings to the sound of most unpleasant thumps. Connor wouldn't have been opposed to one of these rocks, but much bigger, flying in the direction of his head right about now, all things considered.

"Connor, keep your head in this!" butted in a voice from the sidelines, cutting into his self-loathing like a lanky blue knife. "You'll be fine, I promise! Just stick to doing you and it'll come naturally!"

Reyes was right, and it took a weight off his shoulders. Connor had trained for this situation for days on end, and he'd be damned if he was going to forget about that training. It was what Byrne knew best, and it was what he knew best.

"If you're quite done, then I hope you're prepared." Popping into a pose that cut a shadow beneath the glowing stadium lights, Roark had truly come alive. "Hutton! Headbutt!"

"Byrne, into the air and Growl!"

Like a freight train, Hutton covered the ground between him and Byrne in no time at all. His speed alarmed Byrne. It kicked him into a flapping whirlwind that barely made lift-off. Once he was a few feet in the air, he chose not to let his beak or his wings do the talking; rather, it was his… talking. A guttural hiss that a novice ear may have mistaken for a Seviper rang across the battleground; Byrne decided to stay close to Hutton to make _extra_ sure he heard it… and hear it Hutton did. Why did this scraggly little bird stay in range of his attack? What was the meaning of this? Roark found these questions just as pressing as his Pokémon did.

Still, it didn't bother him much in the long run. It just meant Hutton's attack landed much more simply. It was Connor's turn to regret things as Hutton bashed his head into the nook between Byrne's chest and bad wing, forcing his hissing into a screechingly premature crescendo as he was knocked into last Monday. His trainer's newfound confidence had already almost disappeared at the sight of him clawing his way back to his feet in protest.

"Uhh… umm… okay, let's… let's try that again, Byrne. But try perching on something this time, like that barrier, for example! Please!"

Under any other circumstances, Roark would have mistaken Byrne's groggy coos for a hungover child at first listen. It was quite the sight watching his counterpart pouring his heart and soul out to this very grumpy little bird. "Headbutt that Starly, and batter that wall in if it perches up there!" He had to give credit to Connor, though; using the environment to the advantage? Always the mark of a good trainer. Even if that environment was a four-foot wall.

A wall that Byrne did not seem to be interested in as he stood still, preening his injured wings to the tune of displeased grunts. Connor was _that_ close to getting down on both knees and begging like a broken man as Hutton was imminent. Both sets of nails were in his mouth as he watched on in abject horror. "Byrne! Please! I believe in you! Get on that barrier and we can get through this!"

To be believed in.

Byrne glanced back to his trainer in the shuffling locomotive madness that rushed at him headlong. It was a foreign expression that adorned Connor's face, one of a vast and hopeless abyss cracked by a shining light. A light that was dying to escape, calling out to Byrne to embrace it. A light that was within touching distance.

Byrne nodded, turning back to the beast that drew near. He stretched the joints in his right wing, making sure they still functioned, before taking off. His entire face screwed up as it burst into his most beautifully foul birdsong. It echoed across the Gym, almost knocking Roark, Connor, and Reyes off their feet as it tore into their eardrums. Yet as much as Hutton wanted to put a stop to this, he could not. For Byrne was not content with perching on the barrier just yet. No, he soared in circles around the battlefield, once and then again as his screaming became more and more obnoxious. Frustration built up inside Hutton like an abscess of vitriol, as Byrne just seemed to keep going, and going, and _going_ with no end in sight, choosing to take this frustration out on the barrier before Byrne even landed on it.

If Byrne had lips, Connor was certain he'd have been smiling as he dove down, landing several feet away from Hutton. Yet he was not quite done yet; no, not at all. He did not pack it in even as Hutton screamed, leaving a trail of pure, fiery rage in his wake as he charged headfirst at the foundations beneath Byrne. Even in his dismayed and frenzied state, his arrhythmic and unhinged head smashes made a significant hole in the barrier before too long. But Connor could not tell if his eyes were deceiving him, or if his attacks were letting up from the ones he had unleashed on Byrne?

"I'm going to have to pay the damages on this, aren't I," bemoaned Roark as he watched on. Each attack chipped away as much from the barrier as it did his wallet.

Each thud knocked the plucky Starly further off balance, and his breath was beginning to wear thin as his talons clutched on for dear life, harder and harder with each hit, and Connor's hand was drawn towards his forehead to wipe away the rushing sea of panicked sweat. Pokéball at the ready, he kept his eyes peeled and watched on.

It came as a shock to those eyes when, as the barrier gave way, a bright white light enveloped Byrne as his wings took him higher and higher into the air. Wings that grew bigger and bigger with each beat, morphing into greater proportions with the rest of his body. The tuft atop his head grew into the shape of a question mark, his beak sharper like a big yellow bottle opener as his talons became more pronounced.

Byrne was evolving so soon?

The morphing bird's wings came together at his torso, before unleashing his full wingspan and shedding the light as his brand new coat radiated light for all to see. Connor's gasping eyes shone like moonbeams at the glorious sight as he put both hands on his mouth, trying to stop his jaw from falling clean off.

With a caw heard around the Gym, the Staravia made an uneven landing with heavy, yet triumphant, breaths serenaded by his lungs. Byrne's body may have changed significantly, but he was still the same old Byrne as he faced down a royally peeved Hutton, screaming like a jester from bird hell and goading him nearer. He gave another, bitterly ready look at Connor, who was resigned to what was about to happen next. Byrne either faced defeat on the battlefield or faced another Pursuit and defeat as he left it, and Connor could tell Byrne would not let him hear the end of it if he relented. All things considered, Connor kind of agreed with this approach; both routes had the same end result, but one of them involved doing just that extra bit more damage. It really was a no-brainer for Connor.

Both nostrils steaming, Connor smiled a doomed smile. "Great job out there, Byrne! Don't let up the heat now!"

Roark bit his lip and rolled his eyes, before giving Connor the look of a man who had seen enough of the mortal realm. "I suppose I have to commend the both of you for fighting till the last," he conceded. "Hutton, one more Headbutt, if you would."

Kicking up dirt as he stormed across the battlefield as fast as his little legs could take him, Hutton's gait was uneven and his head swung like a broken pendulum as he bolted towards his foe. Every step nearer was marked by the thump of paw upon ground as Byrne's pronounced growling came to a stop, his new wings crashing into thick Cranidos head with all their might as the Headbutt emphatically connected with his crest. With a squawk, Byrne arced through the air before landing on his back, downed by the attack.

As Connor nodded and swallowed this loss, his attention was seized by Reyes cheering and clapping on the sideline. In spite of Hutton landing a knockout, he didn't think that those cheers were for Roark, though he wasn't quite sure. "Okay, Ronnie, let's wrap this one up, buddy."

With that, Ronnie's ball was thrown in an arc as he stood, standing up bruised and gently wheezing but ready to go, undeterred by the pointed little rocks bouncing off his chest. Connor's fingers rubbed against each other as he considered his next move. All that stood between him, Ronnie and a gym badge, was one wounded and frustrated Cranidos. "Keep up the Metal Claws, and stand your ground! Wait for him to come to you!"

Roark had been pushed into a corner here, as much as he hated to admit it. "Fine. Hutton, hit that Aron with another Pursuit."

Sloppy stomps carried Hutton's approach as Ronnie stood firm and unwavering like a sheet of steel rooted in the ground. As inky forces surrounded the Cranidos' head, one honed arm went up in the air, ready to strike. Strike it did as it jabbed into Hutton's rugged epidermis like a tetanus needle, forcing a pained screech as the Pursuit attack connected with a crunch. Each party was sent off-balance by their opponent's attack, with Ronnie one pace back to Hutton's five. Connor thought he'd have a heart attack at the rate things were going. Roark straightened up his glasses. Ronnie stood firm as he drew rattling, laboured breaths. Hutton cracked his neck from side to side, wincing as one arm tended to his stomach.

From opposite sides of the battlefield, Roark's eyes met Connor's. The Gym Leader nodded at his adversary, a wry smile spreading across his unmoving face. "Good battle, you. You're not half bad at this stuff."

Connor could not help wonder if this was another mind game of some sort, but it did not stop him from going as pink and round as a Chansey with a soft smile to match. "Th-thank you, uh… same to you."

Roark turned to back to the field with one last emphatic cry. "Hutton! One more Pursuit! Show 'em all you've got!"

"Ronnie, meet 'em with a Rock Smash! We're not gonna sit back and take this!"

Roaring into action, Hutton and Ronnie let out their finest war cries as they crossed the battlefield with all the might that remained in their little bodies. Ronnie's charge was more a frantic scamper than Hutton's turbocharged lumbering, as the latter's claws lit up in the noir tones of a Pursuit. Like a little battleaxe, his arms prepared to make a mighty swipe into Ronnie's head.

With his foe's chest open, Ronnie closed his eyes and made one last pounce at his opponent. A headfirst pounce with all the might his body could carry. There was an almighty crack like the sound of a hammer hitting a boulder. All of Ronnie's momentum drove into Hutton's chest, knocking him clean off his feet as he made one final swipe at Ronnie. His claws barely breached his foe's skin as he was steamrolled to the ground, Ronnie rolling off him.

Just able to stand on all fours, Ronnie crawled backwards just in case there was life in Hutton yet. One second passed, then two, quickly followed by a third without any sign of movement. Then a fourth, as Ronnie's head began to dip and his eyes struggled to stay open, as Connor crossed his fingers and watched on in bated breath.

Then a fifth.

Hutton was taken off the field to the sound of a weight being taken off his trainer's back. "Good job out there, Hutton. Nevertheless," he began in the voice befitting of a Gym Leader, "I officially declare this battle for the Coal Badge to be over, with the victory going to my opponent. Congratulations on a well-fought victory."

A well-fought victory.

Victory. Connor had _won_ his first Gym battle, and it was a _well-fought_ win.

Well.

Before Connor could even begin to run to his tired little Pokémon, one of the ones without whom this wouldn't have been possible, Ronnie was galloping towards him with happy chirps punctuating his soft wheezing. He prepared to rub up against his trainer's legs; as such, it caught him entirely off-guard when Connor almost leapt onto him, wrapping his arms around him as tight as humanly possible. Ronnie wasn't entirely sure Connor was capable of letting go, and truth be told, neither was Connor. "You did so good out there, Ronnie!" cried the trainer into his companion's ear as he smushed his face up against his little friend's big metal head, rubbing it with all the love he so deserved. Because Connor wasn't sure he'd have pulled that off the way he did with any other Pokémon by his side.

Once he was back on his feet after what felt like a solid minute, Connor was almost instantly caught off-guard by Reyes rushing over, throwing an arm around his shoulder and cheering. "See, you could _totally_ do it after all, my friend! You had it in you this whole time! I'm so proud of you!"

Connor wasn't sure if his heart had stopped, nor if he could ever breathe, as he looked up at his brother-in-arms. The words tried to escape his lips, but his brain couldn't even formulate a proper sentence right now. "I'm… thank you so much, Reyes, ah, um — you're the best!" he sputtered out, red in the face.

"I'd say you stake a pretty good claim to that title yourself, my dude," came the reply.

As hard as he tried to fight it, a smile lit up Roark's face at the sight of these jubilant celebrations between two trainers and their Pokémon. As much of a thankless job as being a Gym Leader was at times, especially with everything else that decided to spring up in Roark's life as of recent, it was always a breath of fresh air to be reminded what the job was all about.

Still, that bloody barrier had to be fixed before the next battle.

"Connor, whenever you're ready," he called out to Connor as Reyes looked down to his friend, who looked back up at him before heading off towards Roark with his badge case open. Roark pulled out one of the Coal Badges in his pocket in reply, its muddy brown colour glimmering as he held it between his fingers.

"This is the Coal Badge. It stands as a testament to your prowess as a trainer, as well as the authority and responsibility that this grants you. Keep it safe in that case, you hear?"

"I-I… of course," Connor replied as he put the case back in his pocket, making a mental note to put it in his bag when he was back at his room. "Thank you, uh — that was a good battle, Roark."

"No problem. My only hope there is that that battle with your friend over there is just as good. Speaking of which, if you'd move to the sidelines, please…"

* * *

Things were much simpler for Reyes, as luck had it. Though things were often simpler against Rock-types when one's go-to Pokémon was a part Ground-type and as ravenous as Garra was, and Reyes' propensity to be a wind-up merchant certainly helped affairs… even if it meant he got a particularly bitter scowl from Roark after his badge was presented to him.

There was no lack of joy as the group walked back down the mound, however, with wide smiles adorning both trainers' faces as they walked down. It seemed that a queue was beginning to form at the desk, much to the pair's contentment. However, the smile was soon wiped off Connor's face as the red hair and pea green jacket at the front of the queue came into view. His eyes listed off to the side, his head soon following has desperately tried to avoid eye contact.

Reyes did no such thing, though, as a wry smile lit up his face as he caught Hawley's attention.

"You—" sputtered the badgeless trainer, wearing his most subtle of scowls as his face screwed up. It felt and looked as though he had been shot in the chest when, with an open-mouthed beam, Reyes walked on past with a Coal Badge in one hand and an erect middle finger in the other. Going solely off his facial expression, one would have assumed he'd been shot twice as his horrified stare wandered over to Connor's pocket, a glass badge case sticking out of it with a second Coal Badge openly visible.

How he wanted to launch onto them and fight them with his bare hands as they walked out of the door.

"Uh… there's a queue behind you, guy," bemoaned the woman behind the desk as she looked at him, most unamused.

"What? Oh. Right."

His clenched fists shook and nostrils flared as he walked up the ramp to Roark. He was only half-certain he wasn't about to burst a blood vessel as he snarled. Of course those two had beaten their first Gyms before he had. Of _course._ Why wouldn't they? That was just par for the course these days, those two getting another victory over him, taking another piss in his cereal as he went about his business doing absolutely nothing wrong. Because those two were the good guys, apparently, because luck just seemed to favour them and their do-no-wrong ways.

Hawley still wore that bandage on his nose, and it still hadn't fully recovered. He resented how nasally his voice had become these days.

There was nothing he could do except keep going up this mound and swallow his pride, because getting mad would accomplish nothing.

 _Fucking dickweeds,_ Hawley thought. _I_ _'ll kill them. I'll beat Roark, and then I'll flay them alive._


	18. Break On Through (To The Other Side)

**_Author's Note:_** _I do not own Pokémon, nor do I own the song "Break On Through (To The Other Side)" by the Doors, to which this chapter owes its name._

* * *

 _ **14:02**_ _ **— October 24th, 2007 — 1 day before October 25th**_

Kurt peered through the faintly opened door, tethered to its frame by locks. "Hawley. Why are you back?"

"Well, I'm leaving town tonight, and I thought I'd pay you another visit. See how you're doing, y'know?"

"Fine. Come in, I suppose," he conceded, shutting the door to the sound of clattering locks. His expression went even glummer when Hawley burst through the door. "And close the door after you, would you? I don't want every Tom, Dick, and Harry looking in."

"A-ah, right… of course." Truth be told, it still baffled him that of all places, Kurt chose to call Oreburgh his home. Just as peculiar was how the apartment stuck out like a sore thumb. It was cleaner, fresher, and all around _better_ than much of the city. But he wasn't about to complain as he perched on the black leather sofa.

"Yes, Hawley, you _can_ sit on that cushion."

"Hm?" Hawley missed Kurt's resigned eye roll as his attention drifted to Franco. The vigilant Larvitar sat pretty by his master's side, perked up and on guard. This did nothing to deter Hawley, who instead gave him a flash of inspiration. "Oh, so how's your Pokémon doing?" he cooed, his eyes lit up like telescopes as he sent out Tomyris to meet him.

"Oh, he's doing just fine. Itching to get out and about after your last visit, funnily enough. Seems to think I'm taking you up on your offer."

"My offer…? Oh, right, of course!" Hawley almost leapt from his seat upon recollection of this. "Well, are you going to? I'd be more than happy to have you along with me, in any capacity."

"As would I if I didn't have these studies. Word of advice, Hawley; don't go to law school."

"Aw, why not? I thought you were enjoying it."

Kurt took a deep breath in; a lesser pair of lungs would have choked on the thickly freshened air. One hand clasped his chin before he began talking. "One would expect that being a lawyer is all about bringing those who choose to be on the wrong side of the law to justice through facts, logic, and reason. But that's not the case, apparently. No, since enrolling, I've come to learn that the Socratic method has taken a back seat to people's feelings. The brightest minds of the lawyering world, reduced to sludge just in case the wrong words are said. It's terrible, Hawley; absolutely terrible. Who are they to tell me what can and cannot be said in the sanctity of a court of law? I swear; it's a farce, a shambolic state of affairs when we academics take a back seat to Pokémon trainers and coordinators. Who would have thought that people making their living from fighting are more in touch with reality than teachers?"

"Ah, geez, that sounds rough, Kurt. I'm sorry."

"It's nothing to do with you, Hawley; don't apologise. I must give credit where it's due; at least our Champion knows what he's about these days. Knows what's best for us, and all that." Looking back to Hawley, something like an idea sprouted in Kurt's head. "Speaking of which, how is he these days? He must be proud that his son's following in his footsteps, getting his first badge and all."

"Oh, uh…" replied Hawley, given pause for thought. "I haven't actually told him about my badge. But he's my dad, y'know? He's Champion; what should he care if I get the one badge? He's got _far_ more important stuff to tend to."

"Right. That makes sense." In the silence that followed this, Kurt sneered, a rare jovial grin adorning his face. "Say, you wouldn't happen to be privy to any of the goings on in the upper echelons of the League, would you?"

Silence.

"…Anything on that meteor thing? It'd be interesting to know if there are any plans on investigating it… perhaps if our guy could tell us if the League was hiding anything from us."

"Kurt, I would also love to know, but what makes you think he'd tell _me_ of all people? I may be his son, but it's not really like I've done anything to earn that information. Besides, you're a smart guy. Think about it; what would they be hiding from us that wouldn't immediately get out, exactly?"

Hawley was half-certain Kurt was holding back some sort of laughter as he raised a most incredulous eyebrow. "Would I be a smart guy if I didn't question authority, Hawley? I'm just saying, if there's anyone I'd trust to get that information out, it's good old Arthur. Sticking it to the rest of those spineless bureaucrats and all that. You know, and I'm not just saying this because he's your dad, but he's the only one of those guys I can trust in good conscience."

"Don't you think you're overthinking things?" he countered, almost wounded at the suggestion. "You don't get to such high positions without knowing what you're doing. I've no doubt that those in Dad's inner circle got there purely on their own merits. You should know that if being a Pokémon trainer is as crowded and as competent of a field as you say, then there's a lot of competition for those places at the top. Places that are hard-fought to keep."

"Surely, you're not being serious? Your dad is the only one who has to fight to keep his job; literally fighting for one's job is what the Championship is all about. You can't say the same for the Elite Four, can you? There are only checks and balances to stop the guy that's supposed to be in charge from having too much power; what about the rest of them?"

This was a good point, now that Hawley thought about it. Perhaps he'd have to pass all of this onto his dad the next time they spoke. Come to think of it, there wasn't really anything stopping him from talking about all of this. The meteor, his first Gym, the Elite Four… perhaps he'd be impressed with him for taking such an interest in his job?

"Unrelated; I don't suppose you've bumped into your ingrate rival again, have you?"

His face soured. "Oh, he and his new friend have their first Gym badges too, if you'd believe it."

Upon hearing this, Kurt almost choked on his shock, his moan giving way to a single belly-shattering laugh. "Hah! Surely you're joking? Perhaps I was wrong on the League being a meritocracy, after all! What, did he get down on his knees and beg for a badge?"

"I… um… I do wish that was the case, if we're being quite honest, heh…"

"Hawley, I know for a fact that those absolute, good-for-nothing, insufferable _fools_ aren't worth the dirt on my boots, and I haven't even met one of them. Self-pitying garble like that makes you no better than them. You're the Champion's son, after all; you simply have to be better than them. What are they? They're nothing."

Hawley wasn't sure that was a fair assessment, though. With Connor, fair enough, but that other one, who'd broken his nose, that rat bastard… he was most definitely a genuine threat. His line of thought was interrupted as Tomyris returned to his side, her smile unerring and face free of trouble. No worry was to be seen as she jabbed him lightly in the shin, a good-natured croak escaping her cheeks. It made Hawley think: if Tomyris wasn't afraid of them, then why was he?

"You know what, Kurt? That's a very good point." Steam escaped his mouth as he loosened up, daring to break into an unreserved smile. "With ideas like that, you'd make a magnificent trainer."

"You do flatter me." Kurt's true emotions lay further away from his sleeve, with only a self-congratulating curl of the lips rising to his face. His sole Pokémon remained upright and vigilant, far from relaxed even now.

"Yeah… so, is there anything else you want to talk about, Kurt?"

"Not really, no."

Pausing for a beat, Hawley nodded, clasping his hands together. "Alright, then. In that case, I suppose I'll be off," he began, getting to his feet and checking on Tomyris as he waited for a reply. "It was nice seeing you again, Kurt. Hopefully, we can catch up like this in future, right?"

"Right, yes; I appreciate the visit. Best of luck with your training and all that, and if you speak to your dad any time soon, do be sure to let me know what he says. Am I clear?"

"As a mirror. Tomyris, let's go."

With his little blue companion at his side, Hawley gave one last smile and a wave at Kurt as he walked out the door, making sure to close it behind him.

* * *

Hesitating over the keypad, Hawley wasn't quite sure of what to do. He was going to have to call him eventually, but was this really the right time? Would it bother his dad if Hawley called him just to let him know about his sole gym badge, or pestered him with questions about strict League business? Did these questions even make sense, or were they just some haphazard conspiracy theories — surely, if something was going on with that meteor, then it would have long since become news? Perhaps the call could wait; after all, if there was one thing Hawley needed, he figured that it was to be independent… but then, he'd just gotten his first gym badge. This news would eventually reach his dad anyway, so Hawley figured that why not tell him personally? Surely, he was thinking things over a bit too hard; getting a badge was a victory, and the first step to becoming his own man. So why wouldn't his dad be happy?

Taking a deep breath, Hawley looked at the numbers on his Pokétch screen. It dawned on him that perhaps he was being ridiculous. After all, what sort of snivelling coward dreaded calling their own family?

He pounded the numbers in and pressed the call button. There was no way in hell he was about to waver as he heard the dial tone. A tone that he hung on to for the ages that it droned on, praying that the other end of the line wasn't about to go down.

Finally, he picked up, his baritone rumbling consuming the line. _"Hello?"_

"Ah! Yes, hello; it's Hawley calling."

" _Why?"_

Hawley was left in an awkward position, in that he had to say something but he wasn't actually sure _what._ He was left scavenging for words to say. "Well," he finally began, "I wanted to let you know how I was doing, and check in on you,if that's alright?" As he spoke, his head darted around as it scoured for his next talking point; he settled on his Gym badge. "Oh! I got my first Gym badge."

" _Interesting. Let me know when something worth my time happens."_

 _Shit!_ "Wait, Dad! Please don't hang up! You didn't let me know how you're doing! I didn't disturb anything, did I?"

" _Nothing outside of the whole Champion business, really. Certainly less important than letting me know you beat what, a Geodude and an Onix? No, it's hardly like I have the League I'm keeping together by the skin of my fucking teeth breathing down my neck about a fucking billion things at once."_

"Well, like what? Oh! That reminds me; I hope you don't mind me asking, but you remember Kurt, right? He used to come over all the time back when I was way younger."

" _Sure."_

"I met him again recently, and he, uh, he had a question about that whole meteor situation in the Battle Zone—"

Hawley's enthusiastic chatter was stopped dead in its tracks by a groan, hoarse and muddy, from Arthur. _"For the love of all that is holy, I get enough shit about_ _it already. Haven_ _'t you been listening? Besides, why the hell would I tell you about it? Any information about the Battle Zone situation is strictly for the League, and any trainers that I wish to pass it on to. You have one Gym badge. Son or not, you're an idiot if you think I'm going to tell you about it. You know, you may bear the Wilkins name, but you must be able to stand on your own two feet before you can really wear that name and do it justice, as I have. Until that day comes, it'd do you a lot of good to know your place. Especially before you ask the Champion any more ridiculous questions._ _ **Especially**_ _if you think you have the right to ask on behalf of your little friends. Am I perfectly clear?_ _"_

Like a Sobble staring down a hurricane, Hawley trembled as he stared at his Pokétch, swallowing the tirade as he let it fester. Many moments passed before he even dared reply. Who was he to refute all of this, especially if it was from his dad, _especially_ if it was from the Champion? _**E** **specially**_ if none of it was wrong?

" _I said,_ _ **am I clear?!**_ _"_

"…Perfectly. S-sorry for disturbing you."

" _Wonderful. Don't call again unless it's important. Goodbye."_

"Bye, dad," he replied as the line went dead. He bit his lip, taking frantic and deep breaths in through his nose, clenching onto Tomyris' ball. Acidic tears stained his eyes while he took deep, sniveling breaths, kicking himself like the sniveling, good-for-nothing mutt that he was.

The Pokémon Center was far from empty at that point in time, but Hawley had never felt lonelier in one. He bit his lips and chewed on all of this, trying desperately not to break — and how pathetic it was that breaking was even an option after one bad phone call. _They_ _'re just words, Hawley, you fucking imbecile,_ he kept telling himself; _if you cry, you_ _'re no better than Connor_.

Considering all the options, Hawley kept telling himself he was right as he buried his face in one palm; they were just silly words that meant nothing to anyone, and this was a normal process that everybody had to go through.

So why was he was thinking of giving up?

* * *

On Lily of the Valley Island, Arthur sank into his throne. It wasn't even four o'clock yet and he'd already had to put up with too much for one day. "Arthur," the League had told him, "you need to help us plan the League tournament. Arthur," they'd said, "you need to respond to the meteor incident. Arthur," they'd whined, "you need to give a conference to the public. Arthur," they'd demanded, "you remember Kurt, right?"

Exhausted, he ran his head through his great big hands, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and looking to a nearby mirror. By Arceus, he looked like utter shit; he had stress wrinkles around his eyes, his sneer was as bitter as venom, and his hair was a mess, dammit! This was no way for a Champion to look! How Arthur loathed tournament season; eighteen years of being a Champion and it was always such an utter circus. Somehow there were still two months of it left, too. The whole situation was an utter shambles.

Far from being in the best mood, he was just about to return to looking through the tournament entrant's spreadsheet, making notes on any and all potential threats, when his wretched Pokétch had the audacity to ring again… this time, the call came from an unknown number. Arthur figured that this was just typical, and on any other day he would have ignored it. But on most other days, he reckoned, he was not this pissed off. So like a screaming bolt of lightning booming into the silent night sky, he took his chances and decided to pick up the damn phone.

A voice too deep and garbled to be any natural human's voice spoke. _"Um, this is the Champion, Arthur, isn't it—"_

"You have **five** seconds to spit it out, or I'll find you and have you bloody well shot!"

Fortunately, this did the trick. _"Oh, cripes — well, uh, hello, I may have a little proposition for you—"_

"Two seconds left."

" _Cripes— okay, the meteor in the Battle Zone; I have an offer that I trust will take a load off your mind and reward you handsomely."_

Arthur half considered hanging up on the spot, but if it got the rest of the League off his back, it was worth a shot. "…Who is this, exactly? And how did you get this, my private number?"

" _I think it would be far more beneficial for both of us if my identity wasn't revealed. We wouldn't want any of this to get out, in case some unscrupulous characters were listening in. But I will say that a close cohort of mine, a very perceptive one, did some snooping about to find this number. Now, I want to assure you, I've not given it to anybody else, nor do I intend to. You're a wise man that I wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of, and we have a common goal here; should you take me up on this deal, it'll be just as worth your while as it is mine. Tell me, have you any interest in making money?"_

All things considered, Arthur thought that this was a pretty good sales pitch. "Go on."

" _That's exactly what I like to hear. How familiar are you with the study of meteors?_ "

"Well, I say, I'd like to think of myself as in the know."

" _Wonderful! So, do you see where I'm going with this?"_

"…No."

" _Ah, well, that's— that's no bother. In any case, I have consulted with some contacts of mine in Hoenn, and they've expressed an interest in an investigation into the meteor and its landing site. As a matter of fact, the Mossdeep Space Center have offered handsome sums of money if that meteor is returned to them for study. Of course, they don't believe that this is the meteor of prophecy, fated to break the world in two — I mean, it's been almost three weeks; if something was going to happen, it would have happened now, so I'd say this is as good a time as any to at least look into it. What do you say? See if you can pull a few strings and have the crash site opened, and I'll do the rest."_

Any remnants of Arthur's explosive demeanour had sunk well beneath the surface; instead, a jack-knife smile adorned his face, his unclouded eyes content as they plotted. "You make a good proposition, and if the Mossdeep guys are involved, I can't turn it down; I'm a man of the sciences, myself. I'll inform my colleagues about this. In the meantime, you had best be ready to explore."

" _Magnificent! Truly, you're a good Champion—"_

"On one condition: your findings go to me before anybody else."

" _Oh, erm, that… that can be arranged, yes. Thank you so much for this; I'll make sure you don't regret it. I'll be getting in touch as soon as possible."_

"Good to hear. Don't call back unless it's important."

On that note, he hung up, taking a deep breath and leaning back on his chair, glancing through the spreadsheet again.

* * *

"Ah, Hawley, wasn't it? Good to see you again; what brings you back here? …Did you sleep at all last night?"

"No."

To put it lightly, Hawley hadn't been in the mood to sleep after the phone call. After a lonesome walk to Jubilife that lasted the whole night and an empty morning spent wandering, Hawley found himself a dishevelled mess as he looked up at Julius outside the office building, his red hair unruly and his green jacket creased. As much as he'd wanted it to, his nose hadn't recovered, and he still wore the bandage he'd picked up on his last visit to the city.

He was in such a state that it seemed to discomfort Julius. "That is unfortunate; you don't mind me asking if something happened, do you?"

"I mind immensely, thanks," came the listless reply, as Hawley withered where he stood. He didn't have the energy to follow this up with anything.

Seeing the boy's half-hearted attempt at a put-down, Julius paused almost out of sympathy. It was as if he was thinking carefully about his next words. "I… see; in any case, you got your first Gym badge, which must surely count for something, no? Given what else you must have gone through recently, I would say that that shows real courage in the face of adversity. That's something to be proud of. It'll suit you well going forward."

Pride was not something Hawley had much of at the moment, least of all in himself, so this was a surprise, to say the least. In an instant, he was snapped out of his ashamed shoegazing. A faint smile had snook onto Julius' face as Hawley's gaze met his, the sun a halo against his full head of pale hair. "…Wait, do you mean that?"

"Of course," Julius replied, taking note of a passer-by and checking down at his watch. "But I don't think that this is the forum for this conversation, and I have work to get to. Why don't you come inside? I'm sure we could talk more in there."

Hawley looked around, taking a moment to let that sink in. Truth be told, he hadn't expected this meeting to last for more than a minute or two. But he could hardly turn down the offer. After all, if he was to put out his dirty laundry, he'd rather do it in private than air it on the streets of Jubilife. Hot air left his face as he sneered an affirmative. "That sounds good to me."

In an instant, Hawley was whisked off into the pristine lobby of the building, the receptionist's desk sat between three white pillars as he approached the spotless desk. "Good morning, Julius," he said, his smile like plastic flowers; "what can I do for you?"

"Get this fellow a pass, please."

"Of course. One moment; could I get your name, young man?"

"Kindly don't call me that, please," Hawley replied, his expression newly embittered. "Hawley. Hawley Wilkins."

"Oh, erm— as in, _that_ Wilkins?"

"Ye—"

Julius took a moment to interject. "Respectfully, I don't think he came here to be questioned about his identity."

"Ah… of course. My fault," the receptionist replied in his most saccharine receptionist voice, clearing his throat as he printed off the 'guest' card and handed it to Hawley. "Please, enjoy your stay."

Hawley replied with a less-than-enthused side eye, albeit one with an intent to be friendly, as he made his way into the elevator with his patron. Punching in a two and a one, Julius turned to his guest with a look like wide open arms. "So, this Gym battle with that Roark; how did it go? Your team's typing, if I recall correctly, would make for an interesting matchup with a Rock-type Gym."

"Interesting was one way to put it, I suppose," Hawley mumbled, prying his head away from the elevator's mirrored walls. "All that matters is that we got through it."

"That is true."

"…Though I wish I got there before those two bastards did." He was back to wall-gazing now, his lips all wrinkled like an angst-riddled Snubbull. "Mocking me because they got their badges first, because those worthless shitheels think they're oh so better than me."

"By that, you don't mean those two trainers you were at odds with before, do you?" replied Julius as the elevator doors opened.

"Who, that damned Connor and the _dick_ who broke my nose? If 'at odds with' is code for 'hate their guts,' then yes, I DO mean them!"

Julius' look was not exactly frosty as he made his way to his office room with Hawley in tow. However, it was certainly not the friendly gaze it had been either; still basically warm, but tinged in disappointment. "You would be much better off if you only learnt to get along with those two, honestly. Don't you remember what I told you? Being perpetually mad at those two for no real reason won't do anybody any good, and in due time you'll regret it."

"Haven't we— look," began Hawley as he walked into the room, too exhausted and too wary to let out his rage other than by closing the door _slightly_ harder. "I appreciate the sentiment, Julius, but it feels a lot like we've had this conversation before. I would _very_ much like it if you didn't pass judgement on me when you've only met them once and me twice. Besides, I thought about what you said, about how only the good and just, the ones who aren't miserable loners, are celebrated or something or other, and I tried getting one of my friends to join me — because I'll be _damned_ if those two villains kick me in the teeth only to upstage _me_ _—_ but guess what he said?"

From his big black leather seat, it seemed as though Julius veered closer and closer to tearing his hair out with every word of that sentence. Alas, he only sat silently bubbling with his hands to his chin, mulling this over. "I'm sorry— what made you come to that conclusion, going off what I said? My intention was the precise opposite of that, and I would _sincerely_ like to know whether I misspoke."

Hawley bit his lip and nodded, going over his thought process in his mind. "Well, you said that I needed to be good to be truly strong, right? Being good is helping others, isn't it? So I figured that the reason those two are… doing better than I am, for the time being, is because they're not loners. Sure, one of them may be a snivelling introvert who "does no wrong" by doing nothing at _all,_ " he bemoaned with the largest possible air quotes, "but they're helping each other, so that counts, right? So, I… uh, wait— yeah, so I decided that I was gonna be good myself, and I was gonna do that by getting my own friends to help me beat them—"

" _Hawley._ "

This sharp interjection was quick as a bullet in bringing Hawley's rant to a halt. "Hm?"

Julius took a deep breath in, dragging his hand down his cheeks in sheer exasperation. "I'm going to be completely honest with you here, from a place of absolute sincerity deep in my heart, because I want to help you be the best trainer you can be."

"Go on."

"What you just said was complete and utter nonsense. Absolute moon logic with no basis in reality that you've just made up in your head to feel good about yourself, and you're smart enough to know full well that it is. Aren't you?"

Hawley's heart stopped as fast as his tirade. He was caught like an ensnared Farfetch'd, left scrambling for words to say. "Well, I mean— you don't know— you can't know for certain—"

"Be completely honest with me, and respectfully stop acting like a child or I'll treat you like one: do you honestly expect me to believe that you heard 'be good to people' and decided that the best route for that was… what, gang warfare?"

"Well… I…"

"Don't try and justify this."

Hawley buried his face in his hands, dreading the word that would inevitably leave his lips. Regrettably, he accepted his fate, almost completely deflating where he sat as he looked at the unspeakably dubious man staring at him. "…No."

"Thank you for the honesty, at least," muttered Julius beneath his laboured breath. A smile incredulous and friendly in equal measure found its way upon his face as he stared right into Hawley's eyes. "So how did you come to that conclusion, then?"

"I… um… well, my… my dad, um—"

"The Champion, right?"

"That's him, yeah, he… uh, always said to me that the Wilkins name is a hallowed name, and one whose status must be kept under any circumstances. Because our family is a proud family that deserves to be at the top… no matter how much work must be put in, or who must be cast aside for that reason."

Julius nodded with a stony face. "That would explain a lot of things. Do you speak to him often?"

Trying hard not to wince, Hawley nodded very slowly and very deliberately. "Sometimes."

"About anything in particular?"

"I… I mean, he doesn't really wanna hear it, half of the time. Says that anyone can get one badge, that it's not important, and especially not when he has League stuff to tend to. I mean, he's not really wrong, though; what good is one badge when he has that meteor thing to sort out, and the League tournament, and a billion other things too? I don't wanna disturb him, but… y'know, it'd be nice to get a well done or something, you know?"

"Mmm, that's perfectly reasonable. It's wholly reasonable to want validation from those around you, particularly with the hard work that comes with being a trainer sometimes; it's not easy, despite what people say, is it?"

"No, it's really not, and I think I should get more credit for that — I really wish I did, anyway."

"Mmhmm. You know, I remember being an aspiring young trainer like you. It gets tough out there on your own, when you have nobody but your Pokémon by your side, with no real human contact to speak of… it certainly takes a toll on you. I can't imagine it's any easier in times like these, either; miners striking on the streets, meteors quarantining half of the Battle Zone, and it doesn't look like anyone's doing a thing about it."

Hawley couldn't help but feel a little guilty about this. Given everything that was said, it felt silly, but he should have been in a position to do something, _anything_ about it. But what was he? Just some kid with a big name to live up to, tremendous shoes to fill, and one whole Gym badge. He was in no position to change the world, for better or for worse.

"As a matter of fact, I considered giving up many, many times. Most do, you know; it's very normal. There's a reason only a small handful of people make it to the Elite Four. But do you want to know what else is a sign of real strength? Not giving up. Keeping on going and fighting for what you believe in, especially in times of such turmoil. It is this that will touch lives, and garner the adoration you desire."

Hawley hadn't thought about this. But now that it had been brought up, it made a lot of sense. "I-I mean, that's… that's pretty clever, Ju—"

Interjecting him was the blaring of the phone by Julius' side. Without a word, Julius picked it up and put it to his ear, waiting for the other end of the line. _"Hi, Beauregard would like to talk to you whenever you're free; he asked if you could head to his office whenever? He said it's of utmost urgency."_

"I'll head up there shortly, thank you," he replied in an unmoved voice, putting down the phone and doing up his business suit's buttons with a sigh. "Apologies for cutting this short, I'm needed elsewhere. Beauregard, always with his top priority meetings about his forsaken adventures, I tell you…"

"Right, of course, it's no bother," replied Hawley as he made his way to his feet, making sure his pass was still visible as he held out a hand. "Umm, thank you for the talk; it's really made me feel better."

"Of course, of course, it's no problem." With his cold hands, Julius met Hawley's offer with a forceful handshake. One that caught Hawley off guard in just how firm it was. "Feel free to have a look around the ground floor, just head to the elevator and head on out when you're ready; I have to warn you, I probably won't be free for hours, so don't expect to see me around."

"Alright, thanks for letting me know. I'll see you around then, hopefully when I get another Gym badge or two, fighting for what I believe in, eh?"

Julius was unmoved still by this, looking Hawley firmly in the eyes as he stood by the door. "Hawley, ask yourself this, and be utterly honest as you answer," he began as he opened the door, one leg in the other room.

"Ask myself what?"

"What is it that you believe in?"

With that, Julius left, closing the door behind him.


	19. Second Hand News

_**Author's Note:** guess who's done with exams and can get back to (semi-)regular updates for the foreseeable future? ;) Thank you so much for the patience; I have a goal in terms of chapters I want to get uploaded by the end of the year, and I'm also going to have another project or two I'll be juggling this year to stay engaged. I hope you enjoy what's in store!_

 _Also, I do not own Pokémon, nor do I own the song "Second Hand News" by Fleetwood Mac (to which this chapter owes its name)._

* * *

 ** _10:00 — October 25th, 2007_**

Connor had egg on his face.

Reyes and he had walked into the Jubilife Pokémon Center with their badges (and, in Reyes' case, "I-told-you-so"s) at the ready, only to find that Florence wasn't there. Instead, they were greeted with a crowd of confused looks. Connor's only piece of reassurance was that he wasn't alone in this; as a matter of fact, he was certain that more of the attention fell on Reyes, who relished every ounce of it. Still, the ideal situation here involved him falling into a giant pit, where he could safely live the rest of his days without being reminded of this.

It took one glance at his companion for Reyes to decide to take action. With his badge returned to his pocket, he set off to track down Florence. "Don't worry, Connor," he muttered, "I'll go find her. Go and take a seat." Before Connor could protest — already an unlikely scenario — he was off.

His quest came to an end twenty-five feet away, when he had to leap to the wall to avoid bumping into a ball of messy brown hair with a cross-stitched sweater and a cup of coffee. Her eyes hadn't seen sleep in one hundred years by the looks of things, as they landed her first on Reyes' beaming face, then his badge, and then the nearest calendar; it still took her memory a hot minute to catch up. When it did, though, it suddenly made the whole faux pas worth it. She scowled at him as though there was a furball in her throat, before slinking back down the corridor, disappearing once more.

His mission accomplished, Reyes turned back around, exuberant as he took a seat next to Connor.

"Does she know?"

"I sure hope she does!"

Connor took a breath tinged with relief, and then he didn't say another word. Truth be told, though, he wanted to — for one, he wasn't sure if he'd adequately thanked Reyes for everything that had happened recently. From the bottom of his heart, he sincerely meant that; the past few weeks had been a weird, weird time… and, thinking about it, Reyes had been responsible for a good chunk of that weirdness in some shape or form. But every trainer's journey was, at its heart, about chaos, and he'd come out of the strangest few weeks of his life in one piece. And he couldn't deny that it had been, for the most part, so very fun. Though he couldn't deny that truly quiet moments like these, as sparse as they were, were very welcome respites — he found them best enjoyed in the company of his fellow trainer.

Actually, he thought, shouldn't that have been trainer(s) plural, now?

Before he could finish, Florence burst through the door with a packed backpack, a cup of coffee, and two Pokéballs. Wiping her eyes with one hand and taking a gulp of her beverage, she took a seat next to the two. "Awright, then. I s'pose congratulations on the badges are in order?"

"Loud and clear for all to hear, if you wouldn't mind." Reyes had the grin of a particularly proud Banette as he held his badge out, almost killing Connor out of shame.

"Reyes, you bastard, I'm going to flay you alive."

"We're going to be staying in town for a few days," Reyes continued, "getting some rest and preparing for the next Gym and all that, so thankfully there won't be a need to get acquainted with tents _just_ yet. I hope you don't mind, by the way, if we meet with someone later today?"

"Depends on who it is. Is it someone you know?"

"No. I believe it's the good professor from Sandgem, who our wonderful friend Connor has made his acquaintance with, if I'm correct?"

The instant Reyes stopped speaking, Connor nodded soft enough to not make a scene. "Um— I hope that's not going to be a problem? I'll be sure to let him know we're here and all."

"Fine by me," said Florence. "How's your little Aron doing, by the way?"

"Oh, he's, uh— he's doing well, yes. Been staying out of trouble, and all that, and he was very good while we did the whole Gym thing. I— wait, were you there when I got Byrne, actually?"

"Who?"

"He's a Starl— well, um, Staravia, I suppose, as of yesterday. He has a bit of a damaged wing when we picked him up, and he's a little on the feisty side, but he's doing well, and he was really good when we did the Gym, too!"

"You got a Starly to help fight Roark, and you won?"

Connor raised a finger to speak, instantly wilting as he realised his strategies didn't really hold up well against questioning. "Oh! Um, I probably should have got another P-Pokémon, shouldn't I? I promise I tried to keep him out of it, ahh— he is a bit beaten up and recovering, still; I should probably check him in here, uh—"

"What? Oh, I'm not mad, that's fuckin' sick, dude. Top job."

"I— you mean that?"

"'Course. Roark's no pushover — wait, I just realised, you were in town when the whole strike thing went down, weren't you?"

Reyes smiled. "That we were. I am sure Roark would tell you first hand just how grateful he is for our involvement, actually, because without us, who knows what would have happened?"

"Um— yeah, that's… a thing, probably best saved for a more private setting, aha."

"What do you—" began Reyes. For the first time, he applied more than an ounce of thought to the situation and realised he was now in the same town as Spoonie's. "Oh, um— I mean, we didn't see much of Roark. All I can say is that we kicked his ass, isn't that right, compadre?"

Florence's eyes narrowed. "…Sure. In any case, if being a nurse has taught me anything, it's that Gym Leaders definitely aren't pushovers. First battles are never easy either, so I suppose I take my hat off to you for that. Superb job, you funky little dude."

"Oh! Thanks, uh— I've never been called that before, haha." Connor went sheepish, almost withdrawing further into his jacket with a smile.

"Hey! What about me? I kicked his ass too, y'know — Connor deserves the merit, but I'm sure he'd agree his victory wouldn't have been so emphatic without my help!"

It took a moment for this to sink in for Florence, but sure enough, she thought, Reyes had indeed said that. "…Okay, the pair of you did single battles, right?"

"Yes. Both of our battles were one-on-one."

"What Pokémon did you use, Reyes?" she began, glancing at the wide-eyed little land shark in Reyes' arms. "Were both of them Dragon-types, perhaps?"

"Well, yes, but I also used my smelly bastard goblin of a Bagon. Perhaps you two would get along…?"

Florence feigned outrage, rolling her eyes and staring blankly at Reyes. "Haha, very funny. Good job on getting your badge and all, but those two things aren't really the same, are they?" she retorted. "You know that, right? Or does your good friend here have all the brain cells out of you two?"

"Hey! I'll have you know I have _several_ brain cells." Reyes shot a finger at Florence like a Unovan gunslinger, fighting to defend his honour before immediately wilting and considering it. "Though, I do suppose you _are_ right. As magnificent as my victory was, I must admit, Connor; yours was more impressive. You are, indeed, the funkiest little dude of us all."

If Connor had less restraint, he would have let out a delighted scream before bursting into confetti; instead, he clasped his cheeks with his hands, going pink as he smiled. "Ah, geez, Reyes, um— you're very funky, too, I guess?"

Florence glanced over to a clock. "We should probably get going soon, shouldn't we? Find someplace to get lunch, figure out our living arrangements for the coming days, and how we're going to go about this whole journey thing."

"Right, right, of course. Connor, I trust you have everything packed?"

"I'll double-check," he replied, immediately diving headfirst into his backpack and scouring every nook and cranny.

"Good idea. Florence, you wouldn't want to forget anything — do you have all of your things ready?"

Florence scowled, as though she had heard that question one thousand times before. "I should absolutely hope so, Reyes, because I went over everything again, and again, this morning. It's no big deal; I'm only leaving home to go an explore the land with folks who, no offence, are basically strangers."

"Alright, alright; please don't bite my head off," said Reyes, before bringing Garra to the forefront of things. "Or I'll get him to bite yours off, so watch yourself!"

"Yeah, yeah, up yours. Connor, dude, you got everything?"

As soon as this was asked, he lifted his head out and looked at Florence, zipping it shut. "Um— yeah, all good on my end."

"Alright. Let's hit the road, boys."

The road was duly hit, with Connor letting Ronnie out of his ball as he walked. He lingered towards the back of the newly formed trio, just behind Florence. "Um— hey, uh, I have a question, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Shoot, brother."

"I was wondering, um— why are you doing this? Not that I'm not grateful or anything, but like, uhh… like, how can I put this—"

Florence resisted the urge to peek at Connor as he desperately struggled for words. "Don't worry about it; I get you. I'd already handed in my two weeks' when you asked — because whether I like it or not, I still have to go do the whole experience thing in the field, so I thought it'd be better to do it with some other folks, too."

"Okay, but like— why us?"

"I'm gonna be 100% honest, here: I didn't actually expect you to do the badge thing so soon. But you did, I made a promise, and I'm not one to turn my back on that because that's fuckin' impressive."

"I… uh, thanks! But um, I guess what I really mean is, are you sure about doing this? With us? Like, we've… not really spoken a whole bunch, and you're gonna be straddled with us for… well, gee, I don't actually know how long—"

"Yeah, but you're good trainers. The Roark thing proved that. I know I'm not gonna run into trouble with y'all—" she began, as she glanced at Reyes before dropping to a whisper — "okay, knowing our wildcard friend, I can't say that for sure, but you both know how to handle yourself. Also? You both seem like wholesome dudes. Does that answer everything?"

Connor nodded, not really sure if he'd forgotten anything. Except for his manners. "Thanks!"

"Hey, no problem. I should ask, actually; how long did you two know each other for before you decided to pair up and travel together?"

"Uhhh…" he began, counting his fingers. "Goodness, um — a-about seven hours? Is that a problem?"

"Oh! Okay, I see." A grin lit up Florence's face as she nodded. "Nope, no problem at all. I can tell this is gonna be an interesting journey then, eh?"

"It sure is," replied Connor. He wasn't entirely sure what she meant.

* * *

The elevator doors opened, and out stepped Jerry. He hadn't been in the boss' office since he was let in on this — he hadn't even been on the floor, because without special permission, he wasn't allowed. Nobody was. Nor had he come face to face with the boss. Come to think of it, was "face to face" even an accurate description? Any notion of a physical appearance had evaded him, and any time the thought crossed his mind, it went all blurry. Everything except that suit, anyway; that image was still firmly burnt into his memory.

Before him lay a corridor that led straight to a door. There were no windows to speak of, which Jerry thought was a bit disappointing; he was on the twenty-first floor, after all, and he had kind of hoped to get a glimpse of the view from so high up, in all honesty. Still, that didn't stop him from walking over to the door and putting a hand on the handle, taking a deep breath and jerking it… only to find that it was locked.

Which was odd.

Jerry figured that clearly something of importance was going down, and wasn't about to disturb it. So he took a seat on one of the chairs and waited patiently, like a good employee. It was being a good employee that got him this far, after all; with a bit of luck, it'd take him right to the top, with a great big house for him, Lindsay, and more Pokémon than he could shake a stick at in his future.

"Are you waiting to see the boss?"

"What?"

The door clicked shut, and Jerry found himself being approached by a man of about thirty, with a proud look on his face and a suit that probably cost more than his rent. "The boss," he continued; "he's in there. Are you waiting to see him?"

"W-well, yes; I didn't think anyone was allowed to… err, who are you, exactly?"

"The name's Throckmorton. Barnaby Throckmorton — but don't call me Barnaby. I suppose I should ask the same of you? Or more importantly, what your business with him is. After all, he hardly lets any old riff-raff up here, does he?"

 _Riff-raff?_ "Haha, I suppose he doesn't — in any case, the name's Jerry Bianchi, at your service!" he replied with a smile fit for licking the dirtiest of boots. "And I wish I could say what I've been called up for, to tell you the truth. Though if I did know… gotta keep it hush-hush, top secret, you know? Can't go round disclosing important info to strangers, hehe."

"I'm sure you can't," said Throckmorton, letting his words hang dry in the air for a sweet moment before regarding his new colleague. "Though… if you want to get into the boss' good books, then a good word in from a respected employee might help, mightn't it? Can't vet people thoroughly enough, can we?"

The penny eventually dropped for Jerry. Throckmorton was one of _those_ types, it seemed, and there were no words in the English language to express just how joyous this discovery was. After all, if there was one thing Jerry enjoyed about work more than brown-nosing, it was being forced to brown-nose via implicit threats.

Fortunately, doing exactly that was one of the many skills Jerry learnt in the mob.

"I can't agree thoroughly enough, Throckmorton; really, I can't. After all, we wouldn't want anybody not pulling their weight around here, would we?"

"That we wouldn't, my old chum! So…?"

Nobody was using the elevator. Good. Jerry gestured Throckmorton closer, looking very pleased with himself. "Well, you know the whole, uh… miner thing, right? Remember how that, eh, that whatshisface — Birkenhead, right? Went to prison? You'll never guess who got the cops to pull that one off."

Throckmorton got a whiff of that, it seemed; he took a deep breath through his nose before nodding profusely. Of course, his mask didn't quite slip; calling his expression a "smile" was a bit too far. "Ooh, that is the stuff, Jerry, let me tell you. Jolly good work, pal."

"Thank you kindly."

"…Say. I'm privy to some things myself, as luck would have it. I've got my fingers in quite a few pies. Would you like to hear?"

"Ohoho! You bet I wanna hear, chief." Everything was really coming up Jerry, he figured; it wasn't often that his techniques got immediate gratification.

"Well," he replied, leaning in until he was uncomfortably close. "that's too bad. Because it'd be very unprofessional to tell every Tom, Dick, and Harry around the office about my dealings with the boss, wouldn't it? Especially secret ones." As he spoke, Jerry felt his cold, minty breath against his cheek. "The deep, dark, secret ones. I know what happens when they get out, and it's not very fun, Jerry."

 _Ah._

Jerry's head sank, as did his teeth into his lip. "I, uh… well, if you insist."

"Now if you'd excuse me," Throckmorton began as he peeled himself away, "I've got a gift to pick up. A friend of mine — a drinking buddy, if you will — has a pretty exciting gig going on, and I wanna send him my well-wishes."

"Oh, does he?" asked Jerry, squeezing out any interest he had in the conversation, because something had to give — everyone had their limit, after all; Jerry had found that nobody was _completely_ immune to being sucked up to. "What's he got going on, if ya — er, if ya don't mind me asking? What sorta gig? Like, a music one?"

"Hah! You're a funny one, I'll give you that. No, he's not a musician; anyone who's seen him handle a bass'll tell you that. No, he's a, uh… you know, a freelance adventurer, that kind of thing. And he's got himself a contract to go and explore the Battle Zone and figure out what's going on there. I dunno who's put him up to this, or what the stipulations are, but I've heard he's getting paid a pretty penny for it."

"Oh! Well, I wish him the best of luck, then!"

"I'm not too sure he'll need it, personally; no job is too difficult for him, and the money is _well_ worth the risk — besides, let's be real, that meteorite probably wiped out anything in a few hundred-meter radius. I'll be sure to send him your regards, though," replied Throckmorton, his focus solely on the elevator as he stepped inside, "because I'm very sure he'll appreciate it. Now, I'm sure you don't want to keep the boss waiting; run along now."

"You've sure got it, mister," he offered as the doors closed, giving the most half-hearted wave he'd ever given. Once he was sure Throckmorton was out of sight (and hearing range), he wiped his hands on his trouser legs, recoiling a little at the conversation he'd just had. Jerry's approach to survival in the workplace had never made him any real enemies when he thought about it, but he never felt any cleaner after doing it.

But he did have a point, after all. The boss had requested him, and he wasn't about to ignore that request, because he was a damn good employee and he deserved some respect for that. So he got up, jerked the handle to make sure it wasn't locked this time, and made his way in.

"Welcome. Take a seat."

The room was a bit sparser than he'd been expecting, as far as material wealth went. It may have just been that the blinds were closed and no lights were on, of course, but there wasn't a whole lot he could see. There was a desk, a chair, a big screen that reflected a sliver of light off it, two big soles just visible in the darkness connected to black trousers, an indigo suit jacket, and two sets of eyes, one like amethysts froze in midnight ice, peering back at him.

Jerry had no luck making out either of their faces as he sat down, though. Any attempt to look further into the unlit room yielded no results; his mind drew a complete blank.

"Hello, boss," he said with the voice of a man desperately trying to act as though nothing about this was unusual. "Are ya… um, are ya doing well?" Because nothing about this was unusual, or bothered him, in any way, shape or form! He trusted his boss, even if any clue regarding a name or face was completely out of reach.

"Fine, thank you. Did you happen to meet Throckmorton in the corridor, by any chance?"

"Yeah! I did," replied Jerry, taking great care on his approach to his next sentence. "He's… um, he's a really intriguing fella, isn't he? I can tell he takes a lot of interest in how things are run around here."

"An astute observation. That he does, and he's a valued asset to our work. Though I do see some of him in you, too; as hard as it may be to believe, you two have more in common than you may believe."

"I'm sorry, um — we… do?" This wasn't a comparison he'd expected to hear, and he wasn't quite sure how to interpret it.

"I didn't stutter, did I?"

"You… didn't, no, sir."

"If you had nothing in common with him, then you wouldn't be here. Because he has many things I find valuable in an employee, and I have come to find that you do, too. As do a handful of others."

"Oh, um… what kind of things?"

"To name three: the ability to get things done, the curiosity to ask questions, and the sensibility to ask the right ones. Most of the time, anyway. You may regularly come into contact with your fellow employees in the near future. You may not. Neither outcome matters to me."

As he went through this, nothing about the boss showed even the slightest hint of emotion. Jerry couldn't help but feel deterred from persisting with this line of questioning — maybe, he figured, he didn't _need_ to know more. Because he trusted his boss! "So… you, uh, you called me up here; do you… mind if I ask why?"

"Of course not."

The boss did not elaborate further than that. Nor did he emote. Jerry soon realised that this duty fell upon the set of purple eyes whose gaze remained glued to him, twisting and morphing up and down his body.

"…Uh— um, in that case, wh-why did you bring me up here then, boss?"

"To reward you for a job well done, of course. Surely you don't think that I'd forgotten your role in fixing the whole… snafu, shall we call it, in Oreburgh? It couldn't have been done without your connections, and your friends were ever so co-operative. Pleasant people, I must say. There really is honour among thieves."

Jerry's attention was now permanently fixed not on the boss, but on the eyes that looked him up and down. With each second that he squandered without an answer, they grew more and more expectant, their patience clearly wearing thin — which left him in an awkward position, scrambling between giving thoughtful answers, figuring out the questions expected of him, and avoiding this… well, he didn't even know what it was, but he sure didn't want to anger it. "Oh, yes— of course, I, uh, of course I hadn't forgotten about that, boss! Uh— um, I… uh, please don't feel pressured into rewarding me; I was just, um, just doing my job, boss!" he answered eventually.

"Oh."

Jerry's heart stopped. Had the situation heated any further, he would have melted into a puddle — come to think of it, his sweat had already melded his skin and clothes. He was some sort of tiny bug, under the scrutiny of four magnifying glasses in the sweltering heat.

"You think so little of me. Do you think you've pressured me into this? That I didn't come to this conclusion by myself, or that I was… _incapable_ of it?"

"Well—"

Before he could even finish that thought, he was interrupted. Interrupted by the sound of glass smashing somewhere above his head, the shards falling in a ring around him, as the boss didn't move a muscle. "Well, what?"

"Shit! No no no—"

"Language."

"—hah, haha — of course not, boss! No, I was just, uh— just saying, um— that, you know, if you don't want to—"

"But I do want to. What sort of person would I be to not reward you for such important work?"

"Right! Right! Of course, yeah!" Between deep breaths, Jerry made a mental note: humility did not work as a negotiating tactic with the boss. "It's appreciated! Super appreciated — so very, very much; uh, what did you… what did you have in mind, boss?"

"Money." He reached into his blazer's pocket, whacking a wad of notes onto the table. "I trust that's satisfactory?"

"Sure! Yes! Of course — thank you, thank you thank you, I'll make sure to spend it wisely! Oh, geez, you can't know how much this means to me—"

"It's payment for you simply doing your job — and your first job, at that. I would encourage against getting too sentimental about it."

"I— what does that mean?"

"Think of it as a beginner's dowry for a beginner's task. The more you prove your worth, the more valuable your rewards will be."

"Wait, really?! I'm— well, I promise I won't let you down!"

"I'm sure you won't. Do you have any ideas about what you'll spend it on?"

"Uh, well… I hadn't actually thought about it much," replied Jerry as he flicked through the notes, asking himself what he could buy with, by his count, three thousand Pokédollars. "I could do with decorating my apartment, and I gotta upgrade my microwave — and my, uh, my girlfriend… she's always talkin' about getting, like, a record player or something, which'd be neat—"

"Oh! A music man, are you?" said the boss, and Jerry swore he'd never seen him so excited when he fumbled under the desk. "What sort of things do you listen to?"

"Aha, well… I'm into everything, really."

"Fascinating! Consider this a gift from me to you, then," he continued, sliding a record sleeve across the table.

Jerry looked it over. He just about made out an orange inscription of two soldiers behind a gun above some text. "Geez, uh— you really shouldn't have, boss; what is it?"

"It's a masterpiece, is what it is. That there is Peter Brötzmann's free jazz opus, Machine Gun. 1968. It's beautiful. A real favourite of mine. It invites you into a world of such chaos; a blitzkrieg of saxophones and drumming, a thumping wall of noise that only very rarely holds back. However, what really sets it apart in my eyes is that, no matter how cacophonous it may seem, it's never truly detached from order or rhythm. It's that thread, and how thinly it is stretched without breaking, that sets it apart."

Jerry nodded, going along with this. "I… see, uh; I'll be sure to check it out, then!" he said, acting as though he was at all familiar with jazz. "Is there anything else ya wanna discuss?"

"I believe that's everything. Should anything suited to you come up, I'll be sure to inform you. You are dismissed."

"Oh; okay, thanks!" said Jerry as he jumped to his feet, hurried the chair under the desk and rushed for the door with a wave. "See ya around, boss!"

As he entered the corridor without so much as a word of protest from the boss, he clutched at his heart with sweaty, cramping knuckles. His white shirt creased beneath the vice grip. He was sure his joints were going to freeze his hand into a claw. Of course, that wasn't his main concern. His heart was still thumping at a thousand miles per hour, and as he heaved with gulping breaths, he wondered whether he'd die of a heart attack first.

Lumbering down the hall and trying not to double over, he collapsed onto a chair, taking a deep breath before running his hand over his sweaty forehead and through his curly locks.

He wasn't sure if he was overreacting or not, because on one hand, it was a fairly standard meeting in which a brief discussion of his performance took place, followed by a reward; on the other, by Arceus, did it have to be so intense?

Whatever. He was probably overthinking it. The most important part was probably the reward, which he was now free to spend however he wanted.

Although, Throckmorton probably got more from whatever thing that he did, on account of not being a beginner and having schmoozed with the boss way more. Even though he apparently had no respect for his colleagues, which Jerry did not take too kindly to, because teamwork was a crucial part of any job. He dared say that Throckmorton may not have deserved that bonus, though he was no expert on the situation.

It just didn't sit right with him. Which, he was quick to add, was the only thing amiss about this; he was completely content with everything else because he simply had to be.

Throckmorton was clearly doing well for himself, though, and Jerry would have been lying if he'd said he didn't want in on that.

It took a minute, but eventually, his heartbeat returned to normal. Once he was sure he wasn't about to suffocate, he got up and walked back to the elevator from whence he came, pressing the button and waiting without turning back. One thing lingered on his mind, and that was his competition.

The doors soon opened, and out stepped two women, one of whom was just as surprised as he was. "Have you been to see the boss?"

"Aye. You going to see him?"

"Yeah."

"Cool."

Jerry got into the elevator, closing the doors as he asked himself just how many people he was up against.

* * *

After a day of getting to know one another better and browsing Jubilife, the newly-formed trio settled down for dinner at a local cafe. It turned out that Florence had one Pokémon travelling alongside her, a Happiny named Dorothea, who was slowly getting to know her new companions and their own Pokémon.

This was done to varying degrees of success.

"Reyes, if that Bagon so much as touches this precious angel of mine, I'll stomp on every bone in your body and kill you. Do you hear me?"

"See, I'm trying, he's just — he's a ravenous man. A smelly boy. A _rascal._ "

Connor sat between the two, opposite an empty chair, drinking his coffee as he tried to avoid peeking under the table. Reyes had his leg wrapped around Baggo, who stood at this barrier growling at Dorothea, who was stood by her trainer's chair minding her own business and talking to Ronnie about something. Whatever it was, Connor figured, it must have been a pleasant chat.

"I'll ravage you, ya dingus," mumbled Florence before she turned to him. "So, Connor, the professor; when's he coming?"

"Well, he said he should be here soon, but… um, he didn't really give an exact time? He just said to expect him whenever, really. I hope that's not a big problem?"

"Nah, it's fine. Will we know him when we see him?"

As if by clockwork, one very tall, well-built man in a creased white coat and glasses walked in, waved at Connor (who made extra sure to wave back), and took his order. "That's him!"

A couple of minutes of waiting ensued before Murphy's order (one bottle of water and a bowl of muesli) arrived, at which point he took his tray and went to the free seat. "Is this seat taken?"

"Nah, mate," said Florence, scooching the chair out. "All yours."

"Ah, thanks! So, Connor, I understand you've been very busy in the past few weeks?"

"Hah, um — well, I'm sure you could say that. Uh… I don't know if you've met my friends?"

"Of course! I haven't, no; how rude of me," said Murphy, almost leaping out of his skin to correct himself as he pointed at the headbanded fool enjoying a sandwich opposite him. "You must be Reyes, mustn't you?"

"I suppose I must be!" he said in between bites, smiling.

"And you're from Hoenn? You do look… familiar from somewhere; is your dad a—"

"No." Reyes' smile dropped, as he took another bite. "He's not."

Murphy grimaced a bit, resisting the urge to bury his head in his hands. "Right, right, of course; I'm sorry. Uh… well," he replied, turning to Florence. "I… don't think Connor's told me about you; you are?"

"I'm Florence; I've been travelling with 'em for less than a day. I'm getting experience to be a qualified nurse."

"Oh! Well, I wish you the best of luck with that. Have you already got much experience with looking after Pokémon?"

"Aye, tons of it, mate. A bit too much as of recent, actually; it's been so busy at the Pokémon Center recently. Folks getting into street fights and muggings waaay more than they should be. I mean, they shouldn't be at all — fuckin' lousy cops — but I'm so glad that I'm not on the front desk against all that anymore, y'know?"

"Ah, yes, of course," replied Murphy, as he cleared his throat and got a little more serious. "How long do you all plan to be staying in town?"

"A few days at most," said Reyes. "We wanna plan ahead for the next bit of the journey, till the next gym or so, and make sure we know what we're doing. Besides, might be nice to stick around and see the what's going on for Hallowe'en in such a big town?"

"I see. In that case, stay safe, and don't get involved in anything you shouldn't. It might take a while, but the situation with Spoonie's will be dealt with. I promise you that. If not by me, then by someone else; once I've got the evidence, I'll be letting some fellow trainers know about this."

This concerned Connor. "Oh, uh— are you sure that won't interfere with the whole League tournament?"

"I'll be fine, honestly; I can multitask. I wouldn't be able to sleep with myself knowing I'm not doing everything in my power to get to the bottom of this, when real people are being hurt." After a pause highlighted by a long swig of water, Murphy's trademark smile was back. "Besides, I'd like to think that I know what I'm doing — don't worry about me! I've got a few cards up my sleeve to help me deal with this. More importantly, though, I don't wanna see any of you get involved in any riots, hijinks, or general shenanigans like in Oreburgh, when you're still preparing for your second Gym badge. Please, just make sure you stay out of trouble, okay?"

Knowingly, Reyes smiled and nodded as if to show he was definitely listening, _definitely_ taking this to heart. "Us? Get in trouble? Why, the great Reyes Vasquez could do no such thing!"


	20. Lonely Woman

**_Author's notes:_** _thank you for your continued readership! Busy few months for me - moved and started college, as well as other projects - but things are back to normal. When I have a schedule (lol), I'll let you all know, but I've got my planning more ordered if that means anything?_

 _Also, I do not own Pokémon, nor do I own the song "Lonely Woman" by Ornette Coleman, to which this chapter owes its name._

* * *

 _ **November 1st, 2007**_ _ **— 11:57**_

"Reyes, what the hell are you doing?"

Florence's question came from the opposite side of the patch of grass, and it was out of dismay and legitimate confusion in equal measure. Having scrambled Dorothea back into her Pokéball, she stood with her arms crossed staring at Reyes. By her side, Connor couldn't bring himself to look, instead hanging his head low and to the side. Even Ronnie was clueless as he nestled between his trainer's legs, unsure whether to help or watch from a distance.

"Wh-what does it look like I'm doing? I'm just, er — stretching my legs, is all! Nothing wrong with getting some exercise before a long walk, don'tcha think?"

"What? We've already been walking for ten minutes, and no-one stretches by climbing a bleedin' tree. Unless…" She trailed off, looking down at the base of the tree — or, more accurately, at the congregation of Wurmple around it. "What's that at the foot of the tree there, mate?"

Reyes gulped. His whole body trembled as he pried his attention away from the tree bark, glancing beneath him for as long as he could bear — which was a few seconds. "Haaaaaa! Oh… well, would you look at that? H… hardly even noticed!"

"Reyes, d— would— uh… do some help with those Wurmple? I-I could probably, y'know— Byrne could probably help clear the floor a bit, if you—"

"Nonsense! It's absolutely _nothing_ to do with that, I promise — if there's one thing, and one thing only, that I'm so utterly _terrified_ of right now… it's cramp! Any trainer's worst enemy is… it's cramp, isn't it?"

Florence was, quite frankly, at a loss for words. It took all her willpower to yank her eyes away from the scene. Reyes' knuckles had gone white from holding on for dear life as the Wurmple drew nearer and nearer. Of course, they were anything but malicious, and this was immediately obvious. With radar-sized pupils, they all regarded him as a curiosity, rubbing up against the tree, trying to meet him with their nubby yellow stumps.

For every second that she looked, she had another question — and it became harder to turn away. Eventually, she did, managing to get one of those questions out to Connor: "Is he… always like this?"

Just to be sure that he wasn't heard, he cupped his mouth and whispered his answer. "W-well, uh… he's definitely not a fan of bugs; one time a Kricketot climbed on him, and he screamed so hard I could hear it half the route away."

"Of course he did," she said, matter-of-factly. She wasn't too keen on this development, and it would've been nice to know beforehand, but it wasn't like it was off-brand. Still, she had another, more pressing question: how did she put a stop to this?

" _Squaaaawk!"_

Like a fire alarm, this threw the Wurmple off. Only for a brief moment, but just long enough for a spinning disc to fly onto the scene. Like nothing Florence had seen before, it left a trail of brilliant white light in its wake as it looped around each Wurmple once, twice, and then three times without breaking. Not even the odd String Shot here or Tail Whip there stood a chance of touching it, and before she knew it, it was over in seconds.

"Wh… what _was_ that?"

"Oh! That's a Ranger's Capture Styler!" Starry-eyed and gawking, Connor couldn't take his eyes off the scene as he spoke. "They're real neat, but you, uh, don't really see 'em much around Sinnoh; it's the Rangers up in Almia and Oblivia usually have 'em, I think?"

"Good observation!"

A Chatot squawked as it swooped down from atop the tree, landing on the arm of a rugged man with flowing blond hair and the field-stained outfit of an Almian Ranger. "I take it you've seen us in the field before?"

"Ah, n-no; I've just… done some research, that's all. It's really fun to read about! But, uh… I've never even left Sinnoh before."

For someone so rugged (and, if Connor was to be honest for a moment, _handsome_ ), the Ranger was very softly spoken. "Oh? Well, Almia's a nice place to visit. Can't go wrong with it, if you ever want to learn more about us. But I digress: what's going on here?"

"I assure you, kind stranger! There's really no need to mind me… because I? Am just stretching," said Reyes, limbering up and getting off the tree immediately afterwards. "Though, would you look at that? I'm just about done. My name is Reyes, pleased to meet you!"

Apparently, being offered a handshake by the man who was clinging onto a tree for dear life just moments ago was odd. But it was mostly harmless, the Ranger concluded. "Er… cool. The name's Thorven; Thorven Liebowitz, Almian Ranger. A word of advice: if you're so scared of bugs, try to stick away from the trees. Okay, bud?"

"Psssh! Me, afraid of bugs? Don't be ridiculous!" Reyes said scornfully, dismissing this with a wave of the hand. Before using that same hand to cup his mouth and whisper. "Thank you anyway, though. Also: very strong handshake you've got there!"

"Plenty of practice. Now, I see you've got some Pokéballs on your belt — am I safe to assume that you're a trainer?"

"That I am! This one's my Gible, Garra; that one's my Bagon, Baggo. They're feisty little beasts, they are!"

"…Huh." Thorven shared a glance with the Chatot on his shoulder, and he was met by a plain old chirp.

"Ah — er, excuse me; I hope you don't mind me asking, but — that's a really cute Chatot; do they have a name?"

"Oh! Why, thank you!" Thorven turned to Connor with his biggest, widest smile as he preened the little bird's chin. "Her name is Carrot; she's a pain in the ass, and I love her to bits."

"Y'know what?" said Florence. "I'd die for Carrot."

Carrot whistled gratefully, smiling as she tilted her head to one side as if to say "you will."

"Say… you'll all be coming from Jubilife, right?" said Thorven, with his fingers on his chin in a state of deep thought. "You've all got Pokétches then, haven't you?"

As if on cue, all three of them raised their Pokétch'd-up wrists with a smile. "We got 'em a couple of days ago," said Reyes. "You know how it is: having to do that whole clown quiz thing for 'em. Clowns are really weird! Also, so is that marketing plan! But we've got 'em, and that's all that counts, isn't it?"

Thorven blinked, tilting his head in unison with Carrot. "…Clown quiz?"

"It's very much what it says on the tin."

"Oh. Uh… noted?" he replied, just as an alarm went off on the Ranger's Styler — and Carrot made sure he heard it, too. Glancing down at his Styler, he nodded. "Well, would you look at that? Lunchtime. Er… none of y'all have anywhere better to be, right? Because I'm totally down for questions if you've got any."

"Thank you so much! I would hate to be a burden on you, though; are you sure that you don't mind?"

"Of course not; I love taking questions. Heck, the favourite part of my job is the educational side; all the fun of saving Pokémon from a forest fire without the catastrophic risk. Usually, anyway; you can never be _too_ sure. After all, the most important part about being a Ranger is to always be on guard."

"Even when—"

"Even when they sleep."

"Well, uh… sleep's nice. Very important, as well!" said Reyes, who cleared his throat and washed his hands of this. "But y'know, I think we should walk and talk while we do this, because I bet Connor here has plenty of questions to ask you!"

"Uhhh… I mean, yeah, I sure do!" This was true, actually, but being put in the spotlight didn't help him ask them.

"Great! Then let's walk and talk!"

This presented a problem for Connor: talking. Sure, now he had the opportunity to ask about being a Ranger, but he wasn't actually sure which questions were worth asking — because he wasn't sure what type of answer he wanted, really. Thorven was doing him a service, too; betraying that by asking the wrong type of question was… not ideal. Nor was anything that ran the risk of upsetting him at all, really.

So he resorted to looking at the scenery for inspiration (and because Reyes was beginning to look concerned, and he needed to do something, _fast_ ). The weather was nice, though with the advent of November came the threat of Sinnoh's infamous winter. The inevitable cold, grey skies, and the influx of Starly flying south from Snowpoint to escape the cold. Actually, that gave him an icebreaker; what better to talk to a Ranger about than Pokémon?

"So, this weather's nice, isn't it?" he said, not entirely voluntarily.

"Mm? Oh, yeah. Can't wait for winter myself."

Connor would've asked why were he not worried it was too personal. Actually, he couldn't bring himself to follow his question up with anything. His plan had backfired, and he wanted to vanish and never return.

So it was Florence's turn to break the ice. "So you've been a Ranger for six years, right? What made you want to go into that line of work?"

"Wasn't for the pay, I'll tell you that much. I just wanted to help folks, really. Runs in the family; Ma was a Ranger, and a damn good one at that."

"Was?"

"Yep," he replied, getting a concerned look from his partner. "Oh, um — not that she's dead or anything; don't worry about that! She just had to quit a while ago."

"I'm very glad that she's still alive," replied Reyes in utmost earnest, patting him on the shoulder. "But, um — very sorry she had to quit. Quitting's not cool."

"…Uhh… it isn't, no. Thank you."

"Did something happen? If I'm allowed to ask, of course."

"Life got in the way, as it's wont to do. Simple as that."

"Ah, I see; well, there's no shame in that." Reyes was many things, but he wasn't oblivious to Carrot glaring at him — so he turned to Connor. "You got anything else you wanna ask?"

"Uhhhhh…" He didn't, but now that he was asked, he had no choice but to think of one. So he went back to his previous effort — the weather, Sinnoh's terrible winters, the dawn of November… he prayed it wasn't too personal somehow, but he settled on this: "What made you come to Sinnoh?"

"What do you mean?"

Now he had to _elaborate_ , too? "W-well, I suppose because, er— well, you're from Almia, right? I know that in terms of climate, we're a bit different, so adjusting might be a bit weird, if it's a permanent move… and, uhh — I know Almia has a pretty diverse set of Pokémon, and it's much more welcoming for Rangers — and there's our political situation as well, what with our Champion being a bit, uh… well — I mean, I guess I should ask as well, how long have you been here? I mean — like, I'm really glad you came here — to Sinnoh — and, er — you don't _have_ to answer all this if you don't _want_ to—"

"Hey, don't worry about it! I'll be honest, I didn't really have a say in the matter; I got assigned here on a work placement."

"O-oh? And, uh… what do you think, then?"

"Well… it sure is a place, isn't it? I could've been sent to quieter places… it's just nothing like Almia, and I don't know how else to put it than that."

"I… uh… well — changes of scenery aren't necessarily _bad_ , are they?"

Connor regretted saying this almost instantly. If covering his mouth with his hands wasn't making a scene, he would've been on that as an instinct. After all, what good was desperately avoiding personal questions if he was telling Thorven how to feel? And given that he was so selflessly giving up his time to answer questions, Connor definitely felt like he had overstepped a line here. Especially when Thorven responded with a silence that didn't seem to end. Vanishing into the woods to live as a hermit was beginning to look like a very viable option — _they were right there, after all_ — when the Ranger broke the tension with a hearty laugh. "I guess they're not, no."

And just like that, it was Florence's turn. "If you think it's a weird place now, wait until the conference next month. I'm assumin' you'll be on extra Ranger duties 'round about then, right?"

"Oh, absolutely; I can't wait! I've heard it's going to be a real doozy this year. Can't wait to be on duty while it all goes down… I bet there's going to be all sorts of folks out and about, eh?"

"You know it. Rootin' for anyone?"

"Well, it's not like I know any of the folks there, honestly. But one of them's a professor, right? I think having that sort of person in charge of the League would be an interesting sight. Certainly freshen things up a bit, no?"

"Y-yeah! We've met him; he's really nice," said Connor. "I… uh… I won't lie, I want him to win, too. He's really cool, and he knows a lot about Pokémon as well — I mean, he's a professor, but still — he's REALLY good with them, I think. And honestly? It'd just be really nice to have someone like that in charge."

"I absolutely second what Connor said — he even had a coffee with us when he was in Jubilife, when his schedule was so busy!"

Thorven looked at Reyes, who beamed back at him. "Wait, he did?"

"Oh, absolutely — and truth be told, everything I've seen and heard about him makes me really think, 'I'd wanna live in a place with that guy as the Champion', you know?"

"Wow, uh — that's wonderful to hear, actually! Always nice when folks are like that. Then fingers crossed he does, eh?"

"Trust me, I have _no_ doubt that he will."

* * *

"Emerson, watch out!"

The Hyper Beam came at the Empoleon like a freight train, stopped only by a giant blue barrier at the last minute. Pushing and pushing until something gave way, because something had to give — and it did. Grimacing, Murphy covered his ears as torrents of raw energy shattered the wall as an explosion ripped the earth around it. Shrapnel tore through the air from wall to wall as both trainers ducked for cover and waited until it was over. Yet as the dust settled, Emerson was untouched. He took a moment to swat through the dust clouds, waiting for everything to settle before letting rip. Taking a deep breath, he lunged at the Steelix, unleashing a deluge of water that pinned down his foe without hope of escape. It pummelled its underbelly, cut up its steely epidermis, and by the time Emerson was out of steam, his opponent was long since out cold.

The trainer returned his Pokémon to its ball as he looked to Murphy, impressed. "Someone's been keeping up their routine, haven't they?"

"Oh, please. It's not like I have any room to slack, is it?"

"Well, I'd hardly call your academic duties 'slacking,' myself, but I digress. Sleipnir! You're up!"

"Oho! Well, if that's the way you want it, I'll bite: good job out there, Emerson; Palmer, it's your turn!"

From Murphy's side, a Torterra took to the field, and from his opponent's side entered a Mudsdale. That this was a sparring match didn't matter, as each contestant locked eyes and prepared to battle, waiting for the first move to be made.

It was Sleipnir who struck first. Rising like a goliath, she stood her hind legs, shrieking before coming at Palmer at full stride. Every muscle in her one-tonne body moved in tandem like the engine of a full-speed truck. Palmer retaliated with an earth-shattering stomp as thick knots of grass snaked from the crash site and ensnared her legs. She was driven to a halt, her hooves digging up mounds of dirt as they dug into the ground, while she thrashed about to no avail. With a whip of the vines, she was yanked face-first into the mud.

"Nelson, Nelson, Nelson! Do you think you'd get away with that in the conference? Because I'd hate to be too haughty, but surely you're better than _that_!"

Heaving, Palmer put his whole body into dragging Sleipnir inwards. A smaller Pokémon would've thrown its back out under her sheer might, and a smaller Pokémon would've lost its grip as she snapped and came to. Her eyes flickered orange as she rose to full size, breaking the vines that restrained her. She galloped to Palmer's right flank faster than he could turn. Faster than he could register the beast stampeding at him. Another stamp of his feet raised vines in her way, but even they were no match for the superpowered attack — she tore through them like a battering ram through a paper wall. Then she rammed him. She smashed into Palmer's shell hard enough to knock him far off balance. So far, in fact, that he stagged onto his back with no means to get back up. Which was ideal, as she threw her head back and slugged her whole body into his belly, ripping all the air from his lungs in one wheezing breath.

"And I could say the same for you, counting old Sleipnir out like that." Nelson smiled, undeterred as he wagged a finger at Murphy. "Rule number one of Pokémon training: the battle isn't over until your opponent's out for the count. Speaking of which…"

Sleipnir got herself a safe distance back, keeping a close eye on Palmer. Rays of sunlight shone on him through the windows as he struggled to right himself, but the lovely weather did nothing to help. Heaving, battered, and sore all over, she stayed vigilant and ready to meet any fight the Torterra had left. But there didn't seem to be any. Palmer eventually groaned and went limp, and all Murphy did was watch on.

"Well, isn't that awkwa—"

"—aaand now!"

Palmer came back to life on Murphy's mark. With a mighty roar, he heaved and strained, listing back onto his feet. Sleipnir bucked back and charged again — but not before Palmer got back on all fours with a thud so powerful, it tore up the grassy knots on the ground. They were rendered razor-sharp leaves as they rose, pointing straight at Sleipnir. And even if Sleipnir rocked him badly with another hit, it didn't stop them from flanking her. They closed in on her like fanged jaws, ripping into her and cutting her up. She crumpled onto the ground with dramatic, desperate neighs, waving her head all around before flopped over, unconscious. All the while, Palmer watched, sputtering and wounded but triumphant nonetheless.

Nelson watched with his mouth agape, trying to process all of this. He looked at Palmer, who bathed in rays of sunlight shining through the glass ceiling. In hindsight, it was obvious. "Synthesis. Of course."

"Excellent job out there, Palmer! Now let's get you rested up." Murphy was visibly quite pleased with himself. The crescent at the end of his necklace swayed from side to side as he crossed his arms, regarding Nelson with a very 'I-told-you-so' smile. "Now. I think there's a lesson in that to be learnt for _both_ of us, isn't there?"

With a sigh, Nelson let it all sink in. Sleipnir was defeated, he'd gone zero for two in battle, and there was nothing he could do. Except return his Pokémon, take a step back, and laugh with his opponent. Even if that laugh was very dry, and mostly under his breath. "You're a real funny guy, James, you know that? All smiley and noble, but you can be a real pain in the ass when you want to be, my friend."

Murphy returned the look and the laugh. "What's so wrong with that? It's not like that's a bad thing when you're in this line of work."

"I guess it's not, no," said Nelson as he restored order to the unruly curls of his hair. "I've got to say… _if_ I don't end up winning this conference — and if I'm not invited to go and face the Champion myself either — then I'd be interested in seeing what Sinnoh would look like with you in charge."

"Now now, let's not get _too_ ahead of ourselves here; there's still a conference to go through, with some of the brightest folks this region has to offer. And if I'm being honest, it just seems… unnatural, almost, to consider me being 'in charge.' I think I'd just like to be there and keep everything running smoothly — just to make sure we're on the right course!"

"Ah, well — that's still a real change in attitude from what's there now, isn't it?"

Murphy paused before he replied, rubbing his chin. "Which, when you come to think about it… you know, this has been on my mind for a bit now, but our current situation is a bit odd, isn't it?"

"Well — yeah, obviously. Situations like Oreburgh don't just _happen_ in a normal, healthy place, do they?"

"No, no, not in that way — I mean… we've got a Champion with _more_ power than any other in recent history, and yet the greatest concern of ours isn't him misusing it. It's more how he _isn_ _'t_ using it. He's got all of the mechanisms of the League under his thumb, and yet to most people, it's like he's not there at all. It's weird how that works?"

"I… huh, when you put it like that… I suppose that's an observation you could make, yeah. But then it's not like he has any _incentive_ to use that power, does he?"

"Well — I think that morally? He does. After all, it's basic human nature to work towards a common good, isn't it? And I think if he's got all of that power then, in theory, he'll work towards that common good, right?"

Nelson gave Murphy a very dubious look, pointing before resting a curled finger beneath his furrowed lip. "Yeah, but in _practice_ … it's a different story, isn't it?"

"Who's to say?"

"…Elaborate."

"Well," he began, "I've no idea what goes on in his head — neither do you, or anyone who hasn't been inside there. Maybe he thinks he's working towards that common good. Maybe we have different interpretations of what that common good even is. But what I _do_ know is this: he _is_ working towards it, even if it's through not doing anything at all. Because he had the power to stop the strikes in Oreburgh — at any moment, he could've come down in favour of the miners; he could have ordered the police to lay off them. But he didn't. And it's not like the miners hold more weight than law enforcement, do they? So if he's not explicitly siding with them, then he's siding against them, isn't he?"

"But then he didn't do anything to stop the idiot in charge from getting arrested, did he? He could pardon him at any moment and let him go back to work like normal if he was so against the miners, but he hasn't — and so he'll face a fair trial and face justice, won't he?"

Murphy leaned his head in, unfazed as he pointed a finger gun at Nelson. "Face justice for what, exactly? How he treated company workers, or how he treated company finances?"

Nelson's face screwed up a little as he went silent for a moment. Smacking his lips together, he waited for a response to come to him — and that response was another little laugh. This one was more explicit, yet softer too. "This really would be an interesting place with you as our Champion. And if it's not me who brings down him, then there aren't very many people I'd rather see run the show than you. But neither of us are going to do that through philosophy — we have battles to practice for, don't we?"

"Power means nothing without a purpose, my friend; it certainly wouldn't hurt any of us to remember that," said Murphy, dry as he'd ever been. For a second, anyway, before he burst into action, yanking a Pokéball from his belt with a grin. "…Oh, who am I kidding? Let's get on with it! Lake, you're up!"

"You really are just the _worst_ at names, aren't you?" moaned Nelson as he looked at the Infernape bouncing about before him. "Very well then: Utgard, let's go!"

* * *

For the leader of Jubilife's mob, there were many pros of having headquarters right beneath a bar. The biggest? Easily the free wine. There was a whole sea of the stuff between massive barrels and rows of bottles, and all she had to do was pop over and get herself some.

She sat in her throne in the heart of the chamber, sprawling across it as she cupped a full glass. All of her Pokémon huddled around as she dangled her legs over the side, her trusty Mismagius staying closest to her. Her fingers drummed at the arm of the chair with a tap. Tap. Tap. In the silent room, otherwise empty. She found herself staring at the ceiling. Watching it. Waiting. Thinking.

Before she sighed, deflated. "Oh, Mildred. What's a girl to do?"

The tattered purple ghost swooshed in the air, facing her without a word.

"You know, about all of… _this._ " She flopped her arms in each direction, gesturing at everything. "I'm only one person; I cannot be expected to bear all of this weight on my metaphorical back. And even my organisation seems paltry for the task that lies ahead. It is a burden I never thought I'd have to bear, and yet here I am, forced to use my power like this."

Not a sound came out of Mildred's mouth.

"I _suppose_ that's true. But even so… this whole 'changing the fate of the world' lark, there has to be an easier way to approach it, no? So many _people,_ all reliant on me to not cock things up, and they don't even know it. I mean, even if I were being ridiculed — or scorned, even; _reviled_ — I would at least be recognised, I'd have incentive to prove people wrong… but no, I'm just _there_ , aren't I? Relegated to a face behind a curtain, doomed to anonymity."

Silence.

"No, no; I suppose you're right." She swirled the wine in her glass before taking a long swig. So long that she had to take a breath. "I suppose that if Sinnoh hangs in the balance, my inconvenience matters very little in the long run. I have a job to do, and I must get on with it. And there's no use in sitting around all bone idle like this, I suppose. What say you, Mildred?"

More silence.

"Good call, good call. I suppose I'll fetch him at once." Instinctively, she reached for her suit pockets, except as she did so she caught a glimpse of her phone in the corner of her eye… all the way over at the far side of the room. Of course, she couldn't be bothered to get out of her chair. She instead looked to her Delphox, and then over at the table. "Alice, get the phone, please."

With a nod, Alice obliged. One outstretched arm beckoned the table over as her eyes flashed a bright shade of indigo. In an instant, an aura of that same shade drenched the table and everything on it as it rose into the air, landing before her trainer's chair.

"Not quite what I had in mind, but — actually, no; this is even better." She picked up the phone and waved it at Alice. "Thanks a ton!" Alice replied with a foxy wink as she snapped her fingers. Just for good measure, a dancing flame flickered above them as she pointed finger guns at her trainer, like the utter show-off she was.

One phone call (and a bit of furniture rearrangement, thanks to telekinesis) later, she found herself waiting at the table. Leaning her head on her fist, she went back to drumming the arm of her chair as she gazed at the empty seat opposite her. Were it not for commitments of the utmost importance, she would have much rather sat and spoke to Mildred and Alice about this — they were the best conversation partners she knew, after all. But in times of need, it was the role of a good, responsible leader to take charge of the situation. A good leader acknowledged their subjects and regularly spoke with their cohorts, acting on behalf of all of them. And she recognised that this situation called for that.

Sure enough, her subject arrived: one stout and red-nosed man, who'd come straight down from the bar at first opportunity. "Ornette, ma'am, you called?"

"Bozo Mike, as I live and breathe." She beckoned him with those talons of hers, protruding from the shadows of her cloak. "Come. Take a seat."

"Uh— sure thing, ma'am!" He dithered over, scratching the back of his head and squinting in Ornette's direction. "Is, uh — is there something you wanted to discuss?"

"Absolutely, and it is of the utmost importance. Everything that we are, everything that we're working towards, is in jeopardy, Mike."

"Oh." No time to dither now — he practically threw himself into the hotseat. "Why? What makes you say that?"

"I've seen it."

"You've _seen_ it? What's, uh… what _is_ it, exactly?"

Ornette took another drink from her goblet, which did nothing to alleviate the weight of her own words. "Something's out to get us. Truthfully? I don't know what exactly that thing _is_ , but I'm certain that we're in the gravest of dangers. It's strong, it hates us, and it's coming. If we're not prepared, it'll ruin us — and it could well strike when we're least expecting it. I've no intention to let this happen, but the way things are going? We're all doomed. So I've come to a conclusion: something has to change around here if we want to survive."

"O-oh. I… uh… that's — well. I… don't think we'd want that to happen, would we? Though… if you don't mind me asking, er… who's we?"

"All of us. You, me, Spoonie, the gals… everyone upstairs, too."

Mike nodded — or rather, his head bobbed up and down, trying to absorb all of this. And quite visibly failing. But he was trying. Which was all Ornette could have asked for, really. "If… something's gotta change… then what are you thinking? Because I've got a few ideas—"

"Increased security at once. We must get rid of the cracks so that nothing gets through — not even a damn spot — without us knowing. Tell Spoonie that not even the tiniest bit of suspicious behaviour in the bar can be tolerated; anyone who crosses us? They must be punished severely, or they'll put us all in danger. And we have to make our presence in Jubilife known. And _feared_. If there's something we can't have, it's rival gangs cropping up and endangering us. So let everyone know we're ramping up the recruitment drive."

"Oh… kay, I'll get on all of that once. Is there anything else you have in mind?"

Pausing for a moment, she bit her lip and had a thought. "The League tournament's in December, isn't it? That's something we simply must capitalise on. So many trainers, so many Pokémon… so much money to be made, and whatever's coming to get us, we can't rule out the possibility of throwing money at it. Maybe it's that our contributions to the police aren't sufficient anymore? Or perhaps we should send more money to Hoenn… but you don't seem too enthused by any of this, Mike. Something eating away at you?"

He wasn't. "I… uh, now, I don't want to be disruptive or anything, but I have to say that the whole Pokémon theft approach… it just doesn't seem like the best way forward, if I'm being honest. Like, if that's what you believe is the best route forward, then I can't stop ya, but I have some… qualms with it, honestly."

"Qualms? What sort of qualms?"

"Well, moral ones, for a start. I gotta be honest… what good is keeping everyone safe if it means we sacrifice their Pokémon, y'know?"

Ornette rolled her eyes. "Mike, please; we're not _killing_ them, that's insane—"

"No, no, it's not that; you're not gettin' my point. Like… surely there's gotta be a better way forward? One that doesn't get so many people hurt. And besides, it just seems a bit… well, ridiculous, really. Just takin' everyone's Pokémon and hope the police don't grow a set of morals. Ain't we above that — y'know, the cartoon villain schemes? If we're going to survive, surely we gotta act serious about it."

"I'm being deadly serious, Mike. This is the best way I know of — we can't pass this opportunity up. It's easy money, and you can't turn that down when surviving costs so much. Besides, it's not like that's _all_ we do; we run businesses, we get folks off the street and give them family, we even helped get rid of a dirty boss in Oreburgh — it's just that… sometimes, drastic action has to be taken. It's the way of the world."

Mike slumped down in his chair in deep thought. In all honesty, he didn't have a solid rebuttal to that point — at least, not one that'd sway Ornette. Which troubled him more than anything else. "Surely, there's gotta be a better way, hasn't there?"

"Not that I know of, no." She took another big gulp from her goblet. "But it's simply the way things are. Besides, if the League won't keep our region safe, then _someone_ has to."

"…Ornette, I'm terribly sorry, but you've lost me here."

"Oh, have I?" Neatly setting the near-empty glass down, she leaned forward, looking straight at Mike. Straight into her eyes with her claws digging into her pant legs. "I'd really hate that to happen, Mike; is something the matter?"

"No! No, o-of course not, ma'am; it's just that, um… look, I'm all for keeping _Sinnoh as a whole safe,_ but…" he began, dipping his attention to Mildred, whose yellow sclerae gleamed as she cast a glance at him. Which answered _one_ of the questions he had. Though for as long as she kept looking at him — and she just wouldn't stop — he couldn't even bring his voice above a whisper. "I… I kinda have to ask you to elaborate."

"What on?"

"…Well… for one — how does… _this_ _…_ help the region? And please — if you can, no riddles. Tell me directly. "

Ornette sighed, running a hand through Mildred's wispy hat. "You know that's not how her powers work."

"Right… right, but, um… I mean, in my head, I just… how do you expect me to make sense of all this? And then if I can't — how can I support it? Because this is a lot you're asking of me to accept, and I'll be honest… I don't know if I can."

"Hmph. Very well." She was now halfway between staring at Mike in disappointment and outright scowling at him. "But if you honestly, sincerely care about the safety of our region, then surely you don't have a choice. And if only you could see the things I'd seen, Mike…"

He wasn't sure what answer he was expecting, nor did he know what to make of the one he got. Almost objecting and visibly second-guessing, he wasn't sure if he wanted to say anything. Before he decided that he needed to. "I… sincerely don't know what you mean, boss. But I do care — I care about Sinnoh, and I don't want it to come into danger, so… please. Tell me what you mean."

Sighing, she reached for her goblet. She was solemn as she looked at the swirling wine in her glass, looking first at her rippling reflection and then at Mike. "I understand that you only have my word to go on. Only I can see Mildred's visions, after all, and I have no way to share them. But I have never been surer of anything than I am of what I'm about to say, so please, from the bottom of my heart to yours: I am the only thing that stands between Sinnoh and the apocalypse. I've seen it happen: homes left abandoned, their inhabitants left destitute on the streets. I've seen families torn apart, blood split and cast aside for nought. Our region's greatest idealists silenced by ignorance and met with inertia, its bravest hearts stomped out by the pursuit of power, and its kindest souls muddied by fear, hate, and solitude. The wrath of gods invoked by our own folly and weaponised against us. I've seen almighty storms brought about by the deeds of our own, tearing this region to shreds until only its bones remain. I have looked for ways to stop these horrific tragedies, but I do not know of a better answer than this. All I know is that should my empire fall, a terrible nightmare shall befall the region that I love. And I will do everything in my power to stop that from happening."

Mike didn't have a reply ready. How could he? He wasn't even entirely sure what he'd just heard. He was not the type to absorb so much information in such a short time, let alone come to a conclusion on it, but she spoke with the utmost sincerity. Every word she spoke was clearly meant, and he couldn't not trust Ornette. When she was serious, she was _serious,_ and not the type to make things up for a laugh. Even then, he'd never seen her — or _anything_ — quite like this. And every single one of her Pokémon was laser-focused on him, waiting for a reply; it wouldn't have made a difference if there were ten or a thousand more eyes on him.

"I… I understand," he finally said. "If you've got convictions _this_ strong about such a serious situation, then as your underling I've not got much of a reason to ignore you. I won't pretend that I'm 100% crazy about it, but… hey! Mildred's been more right about things than my gut, so I ain't in a place to go against her on this one."

"That's an excellent decision, Mike." Ornette exchanged a brief glance with her trusted Mismagius. "And Mildred appreciates your co-operation too."

"I… uh… tell her I said thanks, I guess?"

"She said 'no problem.' Now… I believe you have some security measures to sort out?"

"Right, right; of course, uhh — sorry to keep you waiting, with all the questions," said the clown-looking man as he got out of his seat. (Actually, Ornette admitted to herself as she finished her wine, perhaps she was being too harsh. Even if he did have a big red nose, focusing on that over his tireless work for her just seemed mean, more than anything.) "I, uhh… I appreciate the explanations a whole bunch, ma'am."

"No problem; it was the least I could do. Before you leave, though: a question."

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Is my tongue purple?" She stuck her tongue out, and its violet tinge became visible under the chandelier on the ceiling.

"Oooh, aye — very much so."

"Ugh, I see. I'll have to wash that out. Thank you; now, consider yourself dismissed."


	21. Dancing Barefoot

_**Author's Notes:** I do not own Pokémon, nor do I own the song "Dancing Barefoot" by Patti Smith, to which this chapter owes its name._

* * *

 _ **November** **2nd, 2007 - 13:30**_

For a Friday lunchtime, business at Gianluigi's was business as usual.

This was the case for most things in Oreburgh, a real change of pace from a few weeks ago. If Lucia was totally honest, she liked that. It made for a _much_ healthier work environment when half of the town wasn't at risk of unemployment and the Gym Leader didn't have to go on strike. She liked that things were fine. She liked being okay. She liked business as usual.

She was less okay with being cooped up in the kitchen to wash the dishes. The hairnets were unreasonably itchy, the kitchen was too small, and getting those stains off the pizza pans was much harder than it had any right being. But at least there was a routine — coming in at noon, half-hour break at five and staying until eight on whichever days of the week worked best. It was by no means perfect, but there were certainly far worse, far less understanding employers than her dad. Besides, it was the family business; it wasn't like she wasn't doing good, honest work, because work really didn't get much more honest.

"Oi, Lucia!"

"What is it, pops?"

Gianluigi leaned against the doorframe with his apron. "Roark's here to see ya."

" _Roark?_ " She didn't even notice the soapy dishwater splash back onto her. "Well, what does he want?"

He shrugged. "Didn't say, but he _did_ say that it's pretty important; you'd better go check it out. Sat over at the far table."

At the very least, it beat doing the dishes. She figured it was worth checking out.

He slouched over his table, tearing into his pizza and wiping the debris on his miner's jacket. As a matter of fact, he didn't even notice Lucia was there until she was right next to him.

"You wanted me?"

"Mmm! Mmmucia — mmmph, make a seat."

"Ugh — even if you _are_ a Gym Leader, it's rude to speak with your mouth full. Especially if you're going to interrupt my _very_ important work."

"Ah, of course; sorry to interrupt the dish-washing. You know, I've barely even had time to eat properly with everything going on."

"Well, I'd hardly call that eating 'properly,' but that's none of my business. How is everything that's going on?"

Roark laughed as he ripped into another slice, making sure to swallow this time. "Good, actually; since Birkenhead got fired — well, _arrested_ , even — the board have been _much_ more willing to negotiate with us. Funny how that works, eh?" He leaned in closer to her as she sat opposite, positively devious. "They even gave Tom some time off at the drop of a hat, so he's busy resting up and getting better. And he's being paid, too!"

"Good to hear! Tell him I said hey next time you see him; he's always welcome here. And fingers crossed something gets sorted for the rest of you guys soon, hey?"

"Well, it takes my mind off the Gym, at least."

Sometimes, she questioned why he was even running that Gym. But it did remind her… "How's that going, by the way? Things still running well?"

"Oh, as well as it ever is. Nothing _too_ odd's happened lately, thankfully. Not since those _friends_ of yours, shall we say, left town. That's what I wanted to talk to you about, actually!"

"It is?"

As if to show he meant business, Roark put the slice down. Lucia couldn't tell whether she preferred this to him wrestling with food as they spoke; at least that way, she had an escape route. "You see, the sort of folks that come in and call themselves 'challengers' these days has me thinking. About a few things, but especially your trainer friends. Because say what you will about them, and most of it is justified, but they're not boring to deal with. More importantly, they're actually _good_ trainers — or they get the job done, anyway. Any Gym Leader will tell you the best part of their job is being surprised — and they're usually lying, but I honestly couldn't tell you the last time someone pulled out a Starly against me. Let alone them going onto actually win, too. They may not be the sharpest tools in the shed, but I have to credit them for being hard-working — and resourceful, too! And that got me thinking. About you."

"Me?" She definitely preferred the conversation when he was eating, actually. "What about me?"

"Well, you're bigger than the both of them, just as resourceful, even more hard-working, and most importantly you seem to have a bit more common sense. Look, what I'm saying is: I think you'd make a very good Pokémon trainer."

"Well, I'm flattered!" This wasn't what she'd expected to deal with when she got out of bed, but she was genuinely intrigued. It beat washing the dishes — but then, the reason she was even washing the dishes in the first place was the reason she continued: "But I couldn't."

"Well, why's that?"

"There's a whole host of reasons, but most importantly I can't afford it. There's getting my own Pokémon, for one; I don't know anyone who'd be willing to give one away, and I'm too broke to afford any other option. Even if I could, I don't really have the income to get supplies for them; then there's getting ready to explore the great outdoors — especially because it's November! Winter's a bitch as it is; you're not about to catch me freezing to death in a delivery outfit. There's feeding myself, washing my clothes—"

"The League could help you out with that — grants exist for these types of situations, and I'd be more than willing to put in a good word on your behalf."

Roark was the last person she'd expected to hear that from; it didn't even sound right coming out of his mouth. "Do you expect me to trust the League to look after me? They didn't even blink when half the town was on strike — including you."

"Well, maybe there are other options. I… may be able to get something figured out with some acquaintances that doesn't involve the League—" he was _very_ hesitant to say that out loud — "and I'm sure your parents would be able to help?"

That was her other big problem. "See, about that… this is the family business, and I just don't know if I could walk out on it so easily. I mean, even if they're okay with it, it'd take a bit of getting used to, and it's a big change of scenery all so suddenly. Besides! You know firsthandhow trainers tend to be. I'm not sure if that's a crowd I want to hang out with, really."

"That's the thing, though; you'll have time to get used to the change. It's normal to miss home, for one, but it's certainly not an immediate process — you're not usually just thrown out there. I mean, there's a real chance I'll end up being your first Gym; I'm sure your folks will be happy to let you stay with them while you deal with that. Honestly, I think you'd be great at it; it'd be a real shame if extenuating circumstances held you back. I'm willing to do anything in my power to help you out; just say the word!"

"I appreciate that, I really do, but…" She wasn't sure what to say. It was genuinely a compelling offer, and she couldn't pretend she didn't see herself as a trainer out on the plains, doing whatever a trainer did — but to leave her folks and her town just like that? For something that wasn't even guaranteed?

"It's okay if you need some time to think about it," said Roark. "I'll see what I can do to help."

"…Thanks. I'll get back to you as soon as I make a decision on it, I promise." She meant that — she wasn't one to break a promise. "I'd like to get the whole funding thing sorted out first, so if you could, you wouldn't mind looking into that, would you?"

"Of course! It's no big deal; I'll let you know."

"I owe you one. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got thinking to do and dishes to wash, so I'll leave you to finish your meal."

"Thanks; it's no rush — take your time to decide. Oh, but before you go, one more thing?"

"Hm?"

Roark was halfway through a bite when she turned around. He chewed it, swallowed it, and grinned. "Send my compliments to the chef, if you would — because this is some good stuff."

Typical Roark. She stifled a laugh as she went back to the kitchen to pass his note on, even if that was far from the first thing on her mind right now.

"Well? What was all that about?"

"I'll talk to you about it later," she said, "but for now: Roark said to tell you his pizza rules."

* * *

" _Canalave Gym Leader's office; who is it?"_

"Dad?"

" _Roark!"_ Hearty laughter came through the line like tumbling boulders down a cliffside, and Roark smiled. This was definitely Byron. _"Nice of you to check in on your old man; how are you?"_

"All's good on my end. Yourself?"

" _Not so bad myself; you know how it is around these parts. Kinda wish something a bit more interesting would come up one of these days. Like a big great strike, you lucky bastard."_

Even in his late fifties, Byron never changed; he was just as gruff and geezerly now as he was twenty years ago, and yet he still had a heart of gold. Roark couldn't help but admire that about his dad. "Well, I don't know if I'd call all that hassle 'luck,' but you do you, old man."

" _You bet I will. Now, was there something you wanted?"_

Roark only replied when he was sure nobody else was in (or around) the mining barracks. "Yeah, so — about that strike; there's a little favour I owe someone who helped out with it, and I'd appreciate a bit of help with it."

" _Don't tell me you got involved in any criminal activities back there, son."_

"Goodness, no!" In spite of how quick Roark was to react, he wasn't sure how to explain the situation to Byron. He just knew it would be best to keep details about the other two to a minimum. "It's, uh… how can I put this — one of the folks who helped me out in a big way is this girl, right? She's about late teens, early twenties; she's not a trainer, doesn't have any Pokémon, and is thinking of going down that route."

" _Terrible decision with the clowns we've got in charge looking after them, but go on."_

"See, that's the thing — she's adamant on not getting help from them. She hates them, even."

" _Oh? Maybe she's wiser than first thought."_

"Aye, and I reckon she'd be great at it, too. She could be a real thorn in their side, I think; she's committed, hard-working, and built like a brick — I think she must be even bigger than you! And she didn't even take shit from me back in that mine; I really think she'd be a real help for the cause."

There was silence. He figured the connection was probably dropping. He waited longer than he'd have liked, though; time was beginning to drag on, and he was worried someone would find him. "…Dad? Hello?"

" _Yeah, yeah; I was just doin' some thinking. Er… I'll see what I can do. You got a name I can take down?"_

"Lucia Romano."

" _Ah! Related to Gianluigi, the pizza guy?"_

"His daughter, no less."

" _Well, that's perfect — about time Sinnoh had more trainers who can cook! I'll get in touch with a certain someone, but no promises. You know how it is."_

Roark absolutely knew how it was; at any given moment, there was a real chance he was stuck in a cave. "No worries! Send him my regards if you can get a hold of him; I've got plenty to tell him about next time I see him."

" _You've got it. I appreciate you calling your old man, anyway; it's always nice to have a chat. See you around, kid."_

"You too! Take care, old fart!"

A weight had been lifted off his shoulders. For one, the situation was out of his hands; secondly, in spite of his quirks, he quite liked that certain someone. A shared interest in spelunking aside, he was a level-headed, reliable guy who knew what he liked and was always down to lend a helping hand whenever he could — and Roark had plenty of time for all of that.

* * *

"I'm thinking of becoming a Pokémon trainer."

Her dad took the news better than she expected, though she expected an immediate refusal. "Alright. Is this because of Roark?"

"Partially. It's something that's been on my mind for a bit, though. And I say I'm _thinking_ because I still don't know, honestly."

"Okay, well… that's certainly something we can discuss." She wasn't sure he was taking it well _,_ but at least there hadn't been an explicit no. "Didn't think that was your thing, though; I thought you hated trainers — certainly came across like that when those two boys were here!"

"Well… that's just how so many of them _are._ It happens when there's so many spoilt rich kids running around without an ounce of respect for anyone; you know the type — coming into town, treating us like crap because they've got a silver spoon up their ass. But that's not every trainer! At the very least, I'd hope I'm not like that."

"Okay — well, what was it? You gotta help me out here, unless—" he said. Then he had a heart-stopping realisation, and Lucia didn't like that expression. "Oh no, was it those boys? You'd better not have found love!"

"Oh, come on; neither of them are my type, and I _sincerely_ doubt I'm either of theirs."

"Well, is it to do with boys? Do you wanna go out and find yourself a man or something? Because I gotta tell you — not a good idea! You know how young men are; don't know an inch of respect, and I ain't gonna let 'em treat my baby girl like that. You're too young to settle down with a punk like that!"

She could only laugh.

"I'm serious! You got a few years ahead of you before I expect that!"

It was an empty laugh, and she was uncomfortable; she loathed it when he lectured her about boys. But the only alternative to laughing about it was what she called The Other Conversation. And truthfully? She didn't want that. It worried her more than she was proud of.

"Dad, you know me. Hell, take _one_ look at me. What makes you think I can't handle myself? And even then, it's nothing to do with any of that."

"Oh? Well, you gotta help me out then; what's eatin' atcha?"

Eating at her was too strong a description; it was more like nibbling. Certainly not consuming her, but just on her mind enough for her to notice. She was overthinking it. She sighed. "Well… I'd like to get out there and see the world, y'know? I don't wanna be trapped in a restaurant and washing dishes, manning counters, making food or delivering it while I'm young. Like… I do appreciate it, but I wanna _do_ stuff. I wanna get out there. I wanna see what Sinnoh has to offer outside. I wanna make new friends and catch up with my old ones, maybe see what they're up to. Like, you remember Jo, right? And Ness? When was the last time you saw 'em? I wanna meet up with 'em again, maybe see what they're up to — how university's treating them, you know? And to be honest… I kinda like the idea of having my own Pokémon as well."

For a moment, there was a flicker in her dad's eyes like he remembered something. She wasn't sure if it was her impassioned speech, which she didn't even know she had in her — maybe it _was_ eating at her after all. But he swallowed it, took a deep breath, and nodded. "Then I don't wanna take that away from you."

"…Really?"

Both of them were smiling now, because if he was, then she couldn't help it. "I was young once. You might not believe it, but it's true! I remember being your age, and it was about then that I got my own Pokémon. I never got to go on an adventure, of course — too busy helping out _my_ old man with the restaurant. But I'd have done anything to go on one. My friends all went on one, and they had the time of their lives — and if you really wanna go out there and have your own little adventure, then I don't wanna stop you. Just as long as you remember to call your folks when you're out there, okay? Because we're still gonna worry about you!"

This time, her laugh was a lot more genuine. Just as genuine was the massive bear hug she couldn't help herself from; she wrapped around him so hard he let out a groan. "Thanks, Dad; that really means a lot."

"Oof — no problem, but… watch my back, okay?" He chuckled a strained chuckle, his bushy Walrein moustache curling up at the edges. "If you break it, you're gonna have to watch over this damn place, okay?"

For a brief moment, that didn't bother her.

* * *

It was a few days before she heard back from Roark; these days were mostly spent working and reading. She couldn't help but feel guilty that she was only using Oreburgh's library to prepare to leave town because it was much more useful than she gave them credit for. Much more fun, too; especially when it came to the material on Pokémon. There were a lot of things that were more fun than she'd thought about Oreburgh; even the museum was a lot less dry than she'd always thought, now that she was checking it out of her own volition. It helped take her mind off some things.

Choosing her first Pokémon was one of them. She'd read about the usual choice for Sinnoh trainers — Turtwig, Chimchar, Piplup… they were all so good, and as much as she liked that, it didn't help her decide. Though none of them were Fighting-types to begin with, which was a slight disappointment because she saw herself going down that route — doubly so when the Rock-type Gym was just next door.

Which was quite lucky, she felt, because it meant she wasn't leaving Oreburgh _just_ yet; she'd really miss the place when she left, and she was coming to terms with that as she queued at the library.

This was on her mind as she walked through her back door with three thick books in her bag. She _was_ going to go to her room and read when she was interrupted. "Hey, there you are! I think Roark's here to see ya."

"Oh! Okay, uhh… thanks for letting me know; I'll be right down," she said, her face an uneven smile as she put down her bag.

"No problem! Everything okay?"

"Yeah, it's fine; just got some more books from the library is all. They can wait, I s'pose."

There was that moustache curl again as he laughed a soft laugh. "My daughter, the bookworm. Look for the fella who's properly tearin' into his food."

He was in the farthest corner, decimating the meatiest pizza they had. Of course, this time he put it down when she approached. "Lucia! Take a seat! I'm glad you could make it."

"I both live and work here. Well… for now, anyway." Not her concern — she tried not to think about it. "So, any news?"

"That there is! One moment."

Reaching under the table, he revealed a hefty rucksack that rocked the table as it landed. She winced at the size of it.

"Oh, don't worry," he replied, "this isn't all of it. The only thing I need is a letter."

Lucia really wasn't sure why Roark couldn't just carry it in his pockets, but that was beside the point. She watched with bated breath as unzipped it and started digging around. It really didn't seem necessary; surely, there had to be more convenient ways to do it? If not for convenience's sake then for hers, because this wait killed her.

"Heeere we are — good news! I pulled some strings and got some alternative funding sorted out from a close friend of mine." From his bag, he pulled the envelope out. "You're going to want to hand this to the good Professor Murphy in Sandgem when you're down there; er, while you're there, send him my regards."

Looking at the envelope, the first thing she noticed was the very impressive seal on the back. The second thing she noticed was that the handwriting was, to put it nicely, distinct. Specifically, she didn't even try to parse it, because it would've taken all day. But she didn't want to be too harsh; whoever this mystery person was, they were apparently paying her bills, and that was a _massive_ weight off her back. "Thanks so much for the help! I'll hang onto this — anything else?"

"No, that's it — everything else that needs sorting will be at the lab in Sandgem. You're ready to go! Though for curiosity's sake… have you made a decision on your starter yet? Or did you end up getting one?"

She sneered. "Well, you're the first Gym Leader I'll be up against; it's not like I'd tell you, is it?"

"…So you've not made a decision, then?"

"No; they're all so good! Choosing's much harder than it has the right to be, honestly."

"Fair enough, I suppose; no trainer finds choosing _easy_. My advice would be to just go with whichever one feels right." He straightened his glasses with a grin; they shimmered, masking his eyes through light. "Whichever one you go for, I'll be waiting and more than ready. Don't expect me to go easy on you."

She didn't have a reply ready, so she just let it settle. Except it didn't really settle so much as it sauntered unevenly, bobbing about until she found herself laughing. Roark remained unmoved as he watched her, eventually letting out an innocent laugh.

"Trust me," said Roark as he went back to his meal. "You'll be fine, I'm sure. Just focus on Sandgem for now, alright?"

* * *

" _That_ _'s_ the lab?"

"Oh, aye! It's not as neglected as it looks, don't worry — pop on in and see what I mean."

Something was definitely off; this couldn't have been the big lab every trainer made a pilgrimage to at some point in their lives. Was maintenance just really expensive or something? Lucia wasn't sure what to think as the nice old lady she'd asked for directions left her to it with a chuckle.

Thankfully, that nice old lady was right; it was much nicer on the inside. Much busier than she'd expected, too; all sorts of people were working on the ground floor, some much older than her and others not. The computer screens and thick books she walked past were filled with stuff she had no idea about — and she had no idea where or who this Murphy was, either. So she asked the first free person she saw for help.

"Hey, you don't know where I could find a, err… Professor Murphy?"

"Oh, he'll be out at the minute I'm afraid. What do you need him for?"

"Getting my training license sorted out and all that; I've got a letter for him, too."

"I'll give him a call and let him know someone's here for him if you'd like, but I doubt he'll be back for a few hours yet. Feel free to have a look round town if you want; I can take your number and let him know when he's back? Or you can just come back another day."

"I'll just mosey around town for a bit then," she replied as she jotted her Pokétch number on their notepad. "Thanks!"

"No problem! Hope you enjoy Sandgem!"

She did; the breeze was much cleaner than that in Oreburgh. It helped that it was so close to the sea, which meant a beach was nearby — a nice place to sit down and think. Specifically, to think about what Pokémon she wanted as a starter because she still wasn't sure. They really were all so good, in so many ways — Piplup was adorable, a Water-type (read: would kick Roark's ass), and apparently didn't have much of a weakness. Turtwig was also adorable; it also had a reputation for being hardy and easy to look after. Not that she minded the hassle, of course, but perhaps it was a good idea to go for something more low-key as a first Pokémon. On the flipside, Chimchar (while still adorable) had a bit of a reputation for being tiny little bastards, which was an intriguing concept, to say the least.

Right now, she leaned towards Turtwig. Easy to handle, could still kick Roark's team's ass, and grew into an absolute tank.

Except Piplup was just so cute, and she'd read they were very loyal to their trainers as they grew up, and that was definitely alluring.

But then, Chimchar was alluring too…

Whatever; choosing was hard, and she was hungry.

Her next stop was the Pokémart, where she grabbed herself some food and queued up. She was right behind a man in a lab coat who was just smaller than her, and he was far more enthusiastic about a regular shopping trip than seemed normal. When he was done, he turned around and almost jumped out of his skin. "Woah, you're _tall!_ Not often I turn around and have to look up to someone, haha! If you don't mind me asking—"

"Six-five," she said bluntly.

"Impressive! Oh — uh, sorry to be an inconvenience; I'll get out of your hair now. Have a good one!"

Odd, in her opinion, but fairly innocent. She put her food on the counter, reaching into her pocket for her money.

"You know, you're the first person I've seen in ages bigger than good ol' Murphy."

"Yeah," she said without a second thought. Then that last word hit her. "Wait — that's Murphy?"

"Oh, yeah! Must've just got back from training for the day. Have you not seen him before? He did pretty well in the big tournament last year."

"I didn't watch it — I'm actually waiting to see him about something important. That's… that's the guy, then?"

"Sure is! Go talk to him; he'll be happy to meet you."

She now had even more questions about this whole thing — and as soon as she'd paid, she rushed back to the lab. She made it through the door just as her Pokétch started ringing.

"Ah, good timing!" said the assistant from earlier, Murphy towering right over them with a tremendous smile. "I believe the Professor will see you now."

"That I will! Please — follow me!"

* * *

"Are you _sure_ that chair's alright?"

"Nonsense, it's perfect!" he laughed. "I'll tell you what, I could live and die in one of these chairs."

The sight of the giant man in the rickety wooden chair made her seriously doubt that, but it wasn't her business. "Well, er…" she said, peeling her eyes away to look the envelope, "first things first, Roark wanted me to say hello."

"Very nice of him! I'll get in touch with him as soon as I can; thank you for letting me know."

"Sure — more importantly, I've got a letter that he wanted me to pass on to you; he said it was from a friend and that it's to do with my funding."

"Oh? Well, let's have a look!"

As soon as he looked at the seal, he went pale, lowering his glasses to get a proper look at it — and the handwriting drew a similar reaction. He was hyper-focused on it, his silence disconcerting, and Lucia wasn't even sure he blinked until he put it down.

"…Interesting," he said, carefully folding it up to put in a drawer. "Very interesting! Well! If it's _that_ kind of situation…"

She didn't appreciate that pause. "Everything _is_ okay, right?"

"What? Oh! Sorry — yes, everything is in tip-top shape. How much of this have you been told about, exactly?"

"…None." She was beginning to wish that wasn't the case judging by his reaction. "Why?"

"No big deal — you've nothing to worry about, everything's sorted for you. Financially, anyway; I'll get all that sorted for you. And your skills have been quite enthusiastically vouched for, as well; I hear you were very helpful in putting a stop to that situation in Oreburgh!"

"Damn right I was." She was very proud of herself, and for good reason. "Now, are we gonna get to some Pokémon picking or what?"

"Hah! Very well; if you're ready for that, then so am I!" He got out of his chair and grabbed a thick black case from the side of the room, gently putting it down. As he crouched to look at it, he felt like a child on Christmas — and Lucia couldn't help but respect that, even if he wasn't the one getting a Pokémon. Murphy definitely took his role as a _Pok_ _émon_ professor seriously, if not the part that involved a PhD.

Only when he was sure the floor was clear and the rug was in order did he open it up. Three Pokéballs sat nestled in red cushion; one with a leaf sticker carefully stuck to it, one with a droplet, one with a flame.

"So — did you make your choice before you got here?"

"Actually, I didn't." Lucia blushed a little, unable to hold off a smile. "I… was actually hoping to get a look at them first-hand, if you don't mind?"

"Oh, come on. What do you think?"

This was a good question.

Murphy was extra careful, contorting his body so as to not be in the way when he pressed the buttons on the Pokéballs. One Pokémon came out from each of them, and as they looked at Lucia, she had an even better question: which one did she want?

They were just as cute in the flesh, it turned out — which wasn't as convenient as it sounded. Going off what Roark had said, she'd kind of expected it to be an instantaneous, love-at-first-sight kind of thing, which wasn't the case; they were all so… nice. The Turtwig sat looking at her patiently, the Piplup was trying to find its feet, and the Chimchar wasn't even trying to mask sizing her up. Instead, she was reduced to a kneeling blob of muscle with her hand over her chin. She couldn't help but feel like she was stuck at a drive-in unable to decide on her order, except instead of a burger she was choosing a friend for at least the next few years.

Thinking about it this way still didn't help, so she decided on something else: letting them choose her. "Hey, would you mind taking a step back? I need some space to think."

"Fine by me! Just let me know when you've picked."

First, she offered the Turtwig a hand. The little turtle sniffed it, paused to make up its mind, and then rubbed up against her hand, slicking the seedling on its head back with happy chirps. It got a gentle pet on the shell for its effort.

A bit too apprehensive for her tastes.

The Piplup was up next. This one reacted to the hand a bit differently; there was that pause again before it waddled closer. It paused again, tilted its head, and slapped the back of her hand with a little flipper. The high five did make her laugh a little, and she very gently returned it.

Still, she wasn't entirely convinced.

As soon her hand was in an inch of the Chimchar, though, it grabbed her hand and bit one of her fingers. "Ow! Bastard…"

Murphy turned around in a heartbeat, almost dropping everything. "Is everything alright?"

"Agh, yeah, I'm fine; I just got a little careless. Little flesh wound on my fingers, right there."

"Ah — Chimchar? Yeah, she's got a tendency to give little love bites, that one; should've warned you about that."

She glanced at her bleeding finger, then at the Chimchar. Going off her devilish smile and tilted head, she was very proud of herself — and she'd absolutely do it again. Relentlessness was a trait Lucia liked in a Pokémon, as was a sense of humour; she'd only known this Chimchar for a few minutes, and it had all her respect.

With a smile on her face and a glimmer in her eye, she understood now. _That_ _'s_ what Roark meant.

"It's no bother," she said as she petted the Chimchar on the head. "Because I think I've just found my partner."


	22. Go To The Mirror

Connor found himself standing in a field of flowers, and he'd forgotten his Pokéballs.

Floaroma was different than he'd expected; he'd heard that there were plenty of flowers, but he wasn't expecting them to engulf most of the town. Not that he minded. All of the townspeople were really nice, the scenery was gorgeous, and the history of the town seemed right up his alley. He hadn't read into it much, but with all the Shaymin painted and carved into stuff, he sort of had to. The whole place was a breath of fresh air — metaphorically and literally, because the breeze was intoxicating.

The meadow stretched as far as the eye could see, and he wasn't sure if he could escape even if he wanted to. Of course, he didn't. There was nowhere he had to be, nothing better he had to do than to stay and pick flowers until the sun went down — whenever that was; he'd forgotten his Pokétch too.

The first flower he uprooted was an orange lily, and while he didn't really know what flowers meant, it certainly looked nice — he figured he'd keep it for himself.

Wandering through the field, another thing he noticed was that he wasn't wearing any shoes. The grass was wet, it was soggy, and he didn't like how it felt on his socks; it made his feet cold and sent shivers up his legs. He wasn't wearing his jacket either, and on a cold November afternoon, this was killer. All of the hair on his arms and legs did that gross thing where it stood up on end and made him shiver — and it didn't help how strong the wind was.

Was the wind always that strong, actually? It _had_ to be picking up; this wasn't the breeze as he remembered it. And the sky was a lot bluer than that before; it was a lot less cloudy as well.

Then he saw some forget-me-nots. They were the colour of a calming sea, and he figured that they'd make a good gift to his friends — so he took them. But something in his head told him that he hadn't earned that calm sea; it wasn't his. So they began to wilt in his hands, the sea blue fading into grey as the petals were swept up by the wind.

It had gotten windy, hadn't it?

Things weren't supposed to happen like this — the wind didn't just get so heavy, flowers didn't just die, he didn't just forget his Pokémon.

Rain began to pour. Connor figured now was as good a time as any to get out of the field. Scrambling, he made a run for it as fast as he could — but his legs felt like frozen cinderblocks. His socks were damp and soggy, he was shivering all over, and the wind was violent in how it stopped him.

He tumbled over, and on the ground to meet him were stinging nettles. Stinging nettles that grew around him, and he couldn't move without getting stung. He got onto his knees — his knees got stung. He tried to stand upright — his palms got stung. He tried to walk — his feet got stung. With every step he took, his feet got stung again — before the wind tore them out of the ground. The wind tore trees out of the ground, and he didn't want to be here. He wanted to be back in his room, with his friends and his Pokémon, away from all of this.

The wind was a freight train now, a full-blown storm tearing up everything around him. He was drenched, freezing, and being thrashed about; he was ever so close to getting caught up in the storm. Desperate, he clung onto the ground for dear life. The words had left him, and he wanted to scream — but he couldn't. He couldn't hear himself think in this horrible wind.

He got dragged into the air, flailing to try and break free — but to no avail. He was trapped, helpless, bruised and battered by the storm, getting tossed from side to side. He felt like he was about to faint, and he relished that prospect. He couldn't breathe. His vision went grey. But something pulled at him, not letting him pass out; he was tethered to whatever this was without hope of escape.

And then, like a truck, something slugged him at full force. It took everything out of him as he was flung through the air, and he didn't know where the ground was — where anything was — until he crashed into stone, his back burning as he skidded on the ground with a grunt.

Every nerve in his body screamed. He couldn't move. He opened his eyes.

The storm raged on. Nothing but rain and perpetually moving grey skies above. To his left, nothing. To his right, nothing. Before him, a mirror. Behind him, nothing.

He could well have been burning as he struggled to his feet, facing the mirror. What looked back wasn't him, though; it couldn't have been. It was formless, shapeless; it was a nothing, marked only with eyes as gold as a dulled sun.

"Come closer, won't you?" The voice was whiny, high-pitched and pathetic like his own, yet it wasn't his. He couldn't speak. The reflection's head split open, rows of jagged teeth protruding from the chasm. Turning away wasn't an option; his legs could only shuffle closer, he tumbled gracelessly until his outstretched hand met the reflection with only cold glass separating them.

Only now did words find him. "What _is_ this? What _are_ you?!"

"I'm you," it said.

"But how? We're nothing alike!"

The reflection remained unmoved under Connor's watch. "I've known you for a very long time, my friend; I know you better than you do. We have much more in common than you think… and yet, you know me, too; I'm all that you'll ever know."

"Wh… what?"

"Don't lie to yourself. Deep down, you know."

Connor thought about it, and he didn't have an answer. How _could_ he recognise the amorphous blob of nothing before him?

"Ugh," said the reflection in a voice drenched in utter disgust, "look harder than that. But it's no loss to me; you're only hurting yourself and everything around you. Look around — storms tearing Sinnoh apart as everything you hold dear dies… do you not see it?"

"No! What is there to see? What do we have to do with _any_ of this?!"

It sneered, no longer able to bear looking at Connor. "Hmph. In due time, you will. Even if takes everything crumbling around you first. Until we meet again."

"Wait — where are you going?! Come back!"

Soon, there was nothing left in the mirror, and Connor found himself locked in place. Unable to run or scream, he didn't have the strength to stand upright. Crumpled to his feet, he resented himself. Everything hurt as he tried to get back up, but he couldn't — he didn't have it in him. The storm raged around the empty landscape, splitting the ground beneath him. He couldn't do a thing to stop it, but he didn't want it to happen.

He wanted to be with his friends.

The ground gave way beneath him, and he fell wordlessly as everything faded around him. Hands from the darkness clutched his stomach and dragged him back to Earth with a jolt.

* * *

Being pleased with his own reflection felt weird, but looking at the bathroom mirror, Connor didn't have a better way to describe it. Droopy locks of antennae hair, dull brown eyes, over-bitten fingernails: that really was his sack of flesh looking back.

He tried not to think about the dream he'd had. It wasn't something he wanted to put any stock into; it was just a silly dream and nothing more. Bad dreams were way too common for his broken hell-brain, and he'd earned the right to just ignore them along with his badge. So he just brushed his teeth, trying not to make eye contact with his reflection. Then he left, trying not to think about it.

He _definitely_ had his Pokéballs, his jacket and shoes were _definitely_ on, and his Pokétch was _definitely_ on. Definitely not thinking about it.

Despite almost having a heart attack when he didn't see Reyes or Florence outside, all was well. He reminded himself that that was fine, they were probably doing something else. The weather was good enough for having Pokémon out because winter wasn't here _just_ yet, so he let Ronnie plod alongside him.

Floaroma was different than he'd expected; he'd heard that there were a lot of flowers, but he wasn't expecting most of the town to be engulfed in them… this was familiar.

Shaymin. He needed to read up on the town lore and see what the story behind that was; that was his first order of business, and there'd probably be something about it at the town florist — which had to be open, it was almost noon on a Tuesday and he was exhausted. Though that's what he got for sleeping in so late, wasn't it?

It was _remarkable_ how picturesque the whole town was as he walked down the path, though. Little wooden houses surrounded by flowers, painstakingly painted in pastel whites, blues and reds; the well-loved wooden arches at the town's entrance, blue flowers painted on them; giant trees older than any person where town walls would have been, towering over the flowers as their leaves blew in the wind… and, of course, the flowers themselves. Growing up in Jubilife hadn't left him much space to get accustomed to such aromas — the closest point of comparison he had were the tiny shops he'd stop by twice a year for his parents' birthdays. The notion of that spread, but stronger and spread over a whole town? Not something he had ever considered. Much more organic than he was used to. But it was good for the lungs, and Ronnie seemed to appreciate it too.

Pick a Peck of Colors Flower Shop was difficult to miss. For one, there was the big sign right outside it; it also helped that the entire town seemed to be built around it. It was also _exactly_ what he'd pictured the biggest florists in town to look like: possibly lilac and boldly unintrusive.

He shared a look with Ronnie as if to say "we're on our best behaviour today," before heading in.

The first thing he noticed was that there was a _lot_ of flowers. Which was obvious, but actually seeing it was kind of ridiculous; rows upon rows of heathers, daffodils, and _so_ many flowers he didn't recognise. Bouquets, pots, and wreaths; nothing but flowers, as far as the eye could almost made him miss out on the second thing: the berries. This was more his area of expertise: once he got past all the flowers, he found himself at a section just for them. Orans, Sitruses, Occas; Bluk Berries, Razz Berries, Rawst Berries…

"Hi, can I help you?"

"Hm?"

Connor hadn't noticed anyone was actually in the shop. Not that he minded, anyway — the shopkeeper was nice enough to give Ronnie a scratch on the head as he turned around. Ronnie cooed back at her, and that was enough for Connor.

"Is there anything I can help you with, or are you just having a bit of a browse?"

"Oh — er… I'm just lookin', for now. I'll let you know if that's okay?"

"No problem! You've got a sweet little friend, by the way; do they have a name?"

From Ronnie's side, she looked back up at him and his woozy little smile. "Uhh… yeah, of course; his name's Ronnie — I'm glad you like him! Um — I mean — I think he likes you, as well; he's a sweet boy."

Ronnie couldn't move — not that he really wanted to, of course; there were definitely _worse_ things to be trapped by than pets from a stranger. There was definitely a smile behind those blissfully shut eyes as he rubbed back against the shopkeeper.

"Oh, I bet he is," she replied. "Oh — you don't mind, do you? Sorry about this; I just like saying hi to all the Pokémon that pop in. I don't think I've seen an Aron in here, anyway; they're not that common around these parts."

Reyes hadn't already been in, had he? Was it weird to warn her about Baggo — or Reyes about letting Baggo out in here? He figured it was best not to be weird about it, and just laughed the thought off. "Yeah, uhh — my dad found him in the mine, gave him to me as a starter Pokémon. I've had him, for… what day is it?"

"Thursday. Uhh — the 8th, anyway."

"Oh, then it'll be a month tomorrow!" A whole month since he met Reyes too, no less.

"Nice! I, uhh — gonna put on my salesperson face here, but could I interest you in some Gracidea flowers? They're a way of showing gratitude around here — maybe you wanna show this little sweetheart you're grateful for a month with him?"

Gratitude, eh? "That reminds me, actually — it wouldn't happen to have anything to do with all these pictures of Shaymin around town, would it? I… don't actually know much about this place, haha; I'm just staying here while my friends and I prepare for Eterna."

Something about the opportunity to explain the town's history excited her, it seemed. "I don't suppose you'd be down for a bit of a history lesson, would you?"

Perfect, Connor thought; he barely had to ask. "That's no bother; sounds good to me!"

"Wonderful. Oh, err — I'm Rochelle by the way."

"I'm Connor!"

"Ah, nice! That's a pretty cool name," she said as she managed to tear herself away from Ronnie. "Well — in that case, follow me I guess!"

Connor couldn't have been gladder that nightmare he had was nothing more than that because Floaroma really was a lovely town full of lovely people. It'd have been terrible if anything happened to it.

Rummaging about a shelf above her counter, Rochelle's hands eventually settled on a book. It was a thick, hardback book, the type Connor had only seen in the parts of libraries he wasn't brave enough to visit. She took a look outside — nobody seemed to be there, she figured; it was hardly like it'd be a strain on business. "Alright," she said with a smile; "this is an old folk tale around these parts — my grandma used to read it to me before bed. I… can't speak for the historical accuracy, because it's not something I've looked into, but the folks around here swear by it. Lemme just find it, it's in here somewhere… aha! There it is."

Connor got comfortable. He leaned against the counter, ready to listen intently.

* * *

" _There is an old adage in this town: what is dead was once alive, and will fertilise the land once more._

 _Long ago, this land was barren. Floaroma was, as you and I know it, didn_ _'t exist. Neither person nor Pokémon would visit, because there was nothing to visit. Nobody even dared live off the land, because nothing would grow. No flowers, no buildings, no homes: just a dead hill with dead trees._

 _There was also once a young man from Eterna City. Born of nobility, all of his material wants were met: wealth, riches, great works from great artists in his honour_ _… all he had to do was speak the word. He knew nothing of the world outside his castle walls and had no desire to learn of it. He was, to put it bluntly, a spoiled young man._

 _Outside the castle walls, the people of Eterna suffered great poverty. Death, famine, disease_ _… all ran rampant in the little wooden shacks, packed together with no room to breath. People served the family to survive — they worked the land, joined the guard… those who could not were left out in the cold to die. The young man's father was a ruthless man, whose guards punished slander of his name with death; they served not the town, but the man. His mother turned a blind eye, focused only on extravagant dresses and masquerade balls for the rest of the nobility. No Pokémon were allowed in the castle walls, either; though the guards all carried Pokémon with them, they were seen as tools — lesser; with no place in the lap of nobility. And this was the only world the young man knew._

 _He had been promised the greatest gift of all for his eighteenth birthday: however, one week before he did, however, one of the great painters in the castle sent him a grave warning. He warned that a terrible fate awaited him and his family_ _— the people had grown tired of him and his family_ _'s rule; they were tired of starving and dying at the foot of the tremendous castle, and they were preparing to revolt. For his own sake, he had to escape before his birthday lest he suffer the same fate as his parents. The young man did not even know the people were unhappy; he simply suggested the people have a painting commissioned, as did he when he was feeling down — so the painter offered to take him around the city in disguise, and he agreed._

 _Going out through the back of the castle, he was astonished by what he saw outside its walls. The filthy streets, the wooden shacks, the dying and the dead left to the elements_ _… he simply couldn't comprehend it. Whispers on the street that those in charge had to repent and change their ways for their own sakes, and those whisperers were often arrested and taken to the dungeons on the spot. 'Do you not see?' the painter asked. 'These people hate your kind. For your own sake, you must leave.'_

 _He pondered it for four days. On the fifth, the painter was executed; on the sixth, the young man stocked up on food and fled._

 _The guards caught wind of this and were ordered to catch him. So he ran for four whole days, as fast as his legs could carry him_ _— and he found himself on death_ _'s door on this barren hill, cold and exhausted. He could run no more — he was ready to die at the hands of the guards and their Pokémon, when he stumbled across a starving Pokémon. He'd never seen anything like it before; it was tiny, not much bigger than his hand. Grass grew on its back, and a Gracidea flower bloomed on its head. It was weak, and it could barely stand… and the young man remembered how unhappy the starving townspeople were, so he gave the creature his last apples until it was strong enough to stand._

 _The young man wasn_ _'t sure he'd survive until the day's end, but he lived long enough to see the creature get its strength back — and it stayed with him, too; as night began to fall, it cuddled up to him for warmth. The guards soon arrived, though; they knew the Pokémon was rare, and they knew it could fetch them riches and favour with the young man's father. They made the young man an offer: 'hand over the Pokémon, and we won't punish you. We'll see to it that you're fed and safe.'_

 _He took one look at the little Pok_ _émon — afraid, shaking — and shielded it with the last of his strength. But as the guards prepared to attack him… something happened: light bathed the hill, as a field of flowers blossomed around him. The Pokémon grew wings, it changed form, it became stronger. Seeds rained down upon the guards as they fled, and berries grew for the man to eat — he soon got his strength back, and the Pokémon stayed with him until he recovered before leaving to be with its kind once more._

 _In his gratitude, the man decided to stay on the hill and live on the land. He built the first house there out of logs from trees, he protected the land from any intruders, and in time visitors began to flock to the land. He started a family with one of them, and the Pok_ _émon did the same; every year, the Pokémon would come to visit him._

 _This is how Floaroma was born: the man would go on to make great discoveries, becoming arguably the first Pok_ _émon professor and even going on to name a different species of Pokémon in the painter's honour. He would live a fruitful life well into his nineties, but even after his death, Floaroma would continue to grow._

 _It continued to grow into the town before you today."_

* * *

"And that's all she wrote," said Rochelle. "Er… as you may be able to tell, that Pokémon's usually believed to be Shaymin — hence why the thing's regarded so highly around these parts, I s'pose. Like I said, I really can't speak for the historical accuracy of this one, but it's a pretty neat tale. Would you agree?"

"Oh, _absolutely_ yeah I would; that's, err — I didn't even know Shaymin _could_ do that. I wonder if anyone 'round here's ever seen one, then?"

"Depends on who you ask — though it usually seems to be the older folks who say they know someone who's seen one, and the even older ones who say they've seen one themselves. Still, that's why we try and take care of the flowers around here; to show Shaymin our gratitude. Who knows? Maybe we'll all get to see one someday. But, uhh — to get my salesperson face on again, Gracidea flowers; we sell them here, if you wanna get a bouquet to remind you of your little friend there?"

It wasn't an offer Connor could turn down, really; he didn't imagine Ronnie was an expert on the meaning of flowers, but hey, if it was a way to celebrate a month together… though, seeing as tomorrow meant a month since meeting Reyes, too…

"Actually… I don't suppose I could get _two_ , could I?"

* * *

Reyes couldn't imagine a place more suited to him than Floaroma.

So much room and fresh air outside, which only meant good things — plenty of space to run about, no real reason to stay in all day, and plenty of room for Garra and Baggo. Especially because there weren't many wild Pokémon about; it was nice to not have to worry about his little dragons being a menace to the local Starly community. More importantly, that meant not having to worry about getting on Florence's nerves.

…Most of the time, anyway.

"Look, I'm _terribly_ sorry, I really am — I really didn't mean for it to happen, it's just… you know how Baggo can be, don't you?"

She glared at him, then at the beat-up Bagon in dire need of some band-aids. "I do, _but_ I _also_ know that the whole premise of Pokémon training is training your Pokémon — so that, y'know, they don't end up doing this."

"Yeah, no; you're right — I really do appreciate you helping out, as well. I promise I'm gonna do everything I can do get him a bit more under control in future, because, err — this isn't ideal, I know, and I'd hate to be an inconvenience—"

"It's fine," she sighed. "I mean — it's just how newer trainers and younger Pokémon are; hopefully you two will grow out of it. Garra's not been acting up lately at least, has he?"

"Thankfully, no. I'd be very cross with him if he did."

In truth, he'd also be very cross at himself; as much as he enjoyed teasing her, he _didn_ _'t_ much care for making her life harder than it needed to be. Moreover, what would it say about _him_ , not being able to keep any of his Pokémon under control? And what if it meant those two kept those bad habits when they were much bigger and (somehow) more hot-headed? It wasn't something he put much thought into, and he really did want to nip that in the bud — even if it meant doing a _whole_ lot of learning.

Though if there was one positive to be taken from this whole thing, Baggo wasn't trying to eat Florence. It was probably that he didn't have the energy after trying to take on so many Starly at once, but there was something nice about watching him sit still while he was being fussed over for once. His ego may well have been hurt more than he was, though, and it showed. If Bagon could cry, he definitely would've; his eyes looked like they were about to leak out of their sockets, he was snivelling pathetically, and his jaw was clenched shut.

Once he was all bandaged up and given adequate pain relief, Florence gave Reyes that stern look she always had in these situations. "Alright — you're gonna wanna keep this _wonderful_ little shit out of battle for a few days, okay? He's going to be a bit sore for a few days and won't be as active, so you're gonna wanna keep a close eye on him. He'll be resting up a lot, but unfortunately he should be back to normal in no time at all. Isn't that right, you foul little goblin?"

Baggo looked utterly defeated as she wagged a finger at him, like a spoilt child getting a telling off. It definitely didn't help that that bloody Happiny of hers was right beside with that bloody Happiny look.

"You got it! I'll do my best to keep him out of trouble — no, I _will_ keep him out of trouble, even; thanks for the help! I really owe you one!"

As much she tried to hide it, there was definitely a chortle under her breath as she looked at him. "You owe me quite a bit more than that, I should think. Just try not to break any bones out there, because I _will_ kill you, you hear me?"

"Loud and clear." He meant that, just as she was sure she did; he considered himself quite lucky to have an acquaintance like Florence, even if most things he did completely baffled her.

Actually, there were quite a few things Reyes considered himself lucky to have. Like Baggo and Garra, for example — even if they had a tendency to be… well, how they usually were. Or Connor, for that matter; the month they'd spent together had been far from boring, and it'd been one of the best months Reyes had had in his life. There was no backing out of this now — he was in a region that wasn't his own, had a gym badge to vouch for the month he'd been travelling, and he had a job to do. Quite an important one, actually.

Sometimes, he asked himself if anyone needed to know about it, if he was a bad person for not telling anyone yet — but for now, that was none of his concern. Those worries had a funny way of getting away from him when he was with his friends.

Speaking of which, he noticed Florence squint and then wave in the distance, and then he saw Connor wave back from the distance. So he joined in the waving, grinning.

As he approached, Reyes noticed something in his free hand; it was big, and wrapped in pink. It was shaped like a bouquet of flowers — as a matter of fact, it _was_ a bouquet of flowers. Gracidea flowers, he couldn't help but noticed, and Connor was looking straight at him.

Those flowers were for him, weren't they?

He didn't have a mirror on hand, but he didn't need one to know he was blushing just as much as Connor was. It also didn't help that he felt his face do that thing where it went all warm and the blood rushed up to it and the muscles in his mouth went all funny.

"Uhhh… hey, Connor; nice seeing you here, what's that you've, err — what's that?"

"Oh, er… this?" he said, glancing at the flowers in his hand. "Er… well, these are Gracidea flowers, and I — uhh, I was at the florist's, having a look around, and they said that this is how folks show, er — show gratitude, around these parts, and then she told me a story about it, and they had an offer on for bouquets, so… uhh… so I bought two. And, er — I… I thought you might like one? Because they look really nice, and I've heard they're super easy to look after, and… er, because we, err — month since we met, tomorrow, isn't it? So I figured it'd be a nice way to celebrate that. Oh! Err — only if you don't mind, of course; no pressure, anyway."

"Hah… haha… n-nonsense! O-of course I don't mind!" Reyes was biting his lip so hard it could have bled, but that was the least of his concerns as he took the bouquet. "Thanks! They're really nice — my goodness, er — wh-where should I keep them?"

"Good question! I, uh. Hadn't actually thought about that, haha… but I'm really glad you like them! They, uhh — they look nice, don't they? I guess maybe you could keep it with you in the Pokémon Center, and maybe to Eterna as well?"

"Yeah, that sounds like a plan! I'll try and pick up a, uh — a pot or a vase for them if I can? But… uh… thanks! Thank you so much! I love them!"

"Haha… uh — gosh, this — this isn't weird, is it?"

Reyes just smiled, putting a hand on Connor's shoulder. "Not at all! It's really sweet of you — it means a lot!"

Connor blushed, and he was reminded of his silly nightmare from earlier. It really was nothing more than that, he told himself; just a silly nightmare, just his brain playing tricks on him. Everything was fine as it was, and he had Reyes by his side — everything would continue to be fine. "That's really nice of you," he said.

Neither of them even noticed that Florence was still there, white as a ghost as she watched them watch each other. She felt very weird saying anything to interrupt this, and just waited for the conversation to run its course.

"So… um — y-yeah," said Connor, after a silence that lasted not a moment too long. "What… what do you wanna do next? Wanna get dinner or something?"

"That'd be nice, yeah — Florence, any take on the matter?"

"N-no, no, not at all," she replied. "None of my business."

* * *

 _ **Author's Notes:** I do not own Pokémon, nor do I own the song "Go To The Mirror" by the Who, to which this chapter owes its name._


	23. A Pillow of Winds (1)

_**Author's Notes:**_ _I don't own Pokémon, nor do I own the song "A Pillow of Winds" by Pink Floyd, to which this chapter owes its name._

* * *

 _ **18:35**_ _ **— November 21st, 2007**_

"Welcome to Spoonie's, chief! I don't think I've seen you 'round; you new here?"

A warmer welcome that Murphy was expecting. "Aye; just passing through the area and I figured I'd stop by — glad to be here, though!" he said as he took a seat at the bar. This wasn't entirely honest, and he hated that, but then this was the only approach he saw fit to take.

Spoonie (or the guy Murphy assumed was Spoonie) smiled as he washed his glass. It was a very genuine smile, because of course it was; all part of the facade. "Well, 's always nice having new faces pop in. What brings ya to this neck of the woods, then?"

How Murphy wanted to give a blunt, honest answer — but then, no amateur detective worth their salt played their hand so soon. Best not to make anyone suspicious too soon. The voice in his head reminded him of that. "Well, I've got a friend in the area, and I figured I'd do a bit of training with him. We're both in the big tourney in a couple of weeks and, as I'm sure you can imagine, _neither_ of us wanna embarrass ourselves. So we figured that just getting our training done with each other works; it's hardly like we're bad competition, it keeps our strategies being given away to a minimum, and if we get drawn against each other then it's basically guaranteed to be a fun match. And that's all you can really ask for as a spectator, isn't it?"

"Oho, well! That's certainly something, isn't it? I mean, truthfully — I ain't a fan of the tourney. Most of the people who come 'round here are, and it drives me _nuts_ — I just can't stand how theatrical the whole thing is, meself. This is serious shit, y'know? But I won't knock you; it's nice that _one_ of you people can give us the time of day, eh?"

Funny. Murphy's reaction could be generously described as a forceful exhale through the nose. When it didn't go any further than that, Spoonie bit the bullet and laughed at his own joke. "Nahhh! Ah, no worries; I'm just messin' with ya. Now, in more important matters: what can I getcha?"

"Just a glass of Razz Berry juice, please."

"Comin' right up! Not a drinker then, eh big man?"

"I'm afraid not; just don't like the taste of alcohol, honestly." This was also only half-true; it was more that he couldn't investigate while drunk. Keeping a focused and clear mind in times like these was paramount.

And if he got pissed, the voice in his head would be doubly so.

"I see, I see." Spoonie grinned, pouring a glass and putting it before him. "S'pose it's not a surprise that this is your first time here, then?"

He smiled back. "I guess it isn't, no."

Murphy swore he was happy with his current situation, and he meant it. But going to bars all the time got in the way of all his very important work, and actually getting drunk doubly so. Triply so, actually; there was always the morning after, and the voice in his head always made her feelings on the matter _strongly_ known.

No time to ponder on that now, though; for now at least, this _was_ his work. "Say, there is _one_ thing that made me kind of curious when I was reading up on this place — you don't mind me asking about it, do you?"

"Nah, nah! Go ahead!"

"I've heard there are… odd things about your bread."

"Oh?" Something caught Spoonie's ear about this. He put his glass down on the bar — all conversation, this was the first time he didn't have one in his hand — and looked at Murphy. "What sort of… 'odd things' are we talkin' here?"

"Well, er — some of the reviews said that some of it's a bit too peppery, for one. But then there was one that said it was better than it had any right being. And I kind of have to wonder what all of this is on about, because honestly, I wasn't really aware bread's a thing that can _be_ too peppery — but if it works, then I'd be quite interested in trying some."

"Oh… oh! Okay — well, er… I suppose we can get you some, then? If you're interested."

Spoonie seemed almost surprised at the question — as though it was unnatural. Which, well — it _was_ unnatural; Murphy knew damn well pepper didn't go on bread — but then why did the reviews bring it up?

"Oh, I am _very_ interested."

"Very well, very well," he said, "and you want pepper on it, right?"

"Aye."

He made a note on a piece of paper — half of it written a lot more emphatically than the other — and passed it on to a nearby waitress. "Should be with ya very soon — but, we don't get many people asking for the peppered bread, honestly. It's something of a delicacy in this place, y'know? Only those in the know really pick it up. I gotta say, er — 'too peppery,' did you say one of the folks said?"

"That I did."

"Yeah, well… this is something you gotta explicitly ask for, okay? It's not something you just get given. You gotta specify it. So… really don't know whatever the hell that guy's on about. Gods, I tell ya — some people are thick, eh? Yer average customer, I tell ya."

"Oh, I can imagine," said Murphy. "You folks in retail don't have it easy, do you?"

"Yeah, well. We can't _all_ be trainers, can we? We can't just drop all of our things and dedicate ourselves to that, as much as I wish we could. It'd be nice, wouldn't it?"

"Oh, this isn't my job; I'm a professor, as a matter of fact. It's… well — certainly not retail work, no, and it certainly helps that Pokémon training is my area of expertise, but it's not impossible to balance the two, y'know?"

"Hmph," said Spoonie, who hadn't picked up his glass back up yet. "Well, some of us just don't have that luxury. We got bills to pay, commitments and whathaveyou — in the long run, it just ain't sustainable for most of us. After all, it's only a tiny, _tiny_ sliver of folks who make it all the way to their final Gym, ain't it?"

"Oh, I certainly won't deny that — but it's definitely not impossible. The point is that if you _can_ make it that far, you've earned this as your living."

"And it's not like the folks in charge are any help, are they? They ain't ever been any good up there, and they never will be; I don't see why anyone even tries, honestly — only thing they care about is themselves. It's not something I lose sleep over anymore; I don't know about you, but I'd much rather be alive than hopeful."

Murphy's fist clenched under the table. How he wished Spoonie'd just confess by now — better that than put up with this kind of talk for a second more.

" _Stay calm. If you act out now, this whole thing will be for nothing."_

Deep breath. Fist still clenched, but he smiled anyway. "Respectfully, I don't agree in the slightest. Sure, things are bad. Truthfully? If you'll pardon my French — they suck ass. And the League isn't going to fix that themselves. But a better world is always, _always_ possible, and not something that should be lost sight of — ever. All it takes is good people and good Pokémon banding together — lives are on the line, people are hurting, but look at Oreburgh! That's the sort of thing that keeps me going — the folks in charge have much more to lose than I. That's why I'm still a trainer, that's why I'm going to win the conference, and that's why I won't rest until this region heals."

Spoonie just harrumphed under his breath, going back to his glass. "If only the whole world worked like that, pal. But you do you."

"Very well," came the reply through gritted teeth. "I'll do that."

"Two slices of bread. Sprinkled with pepper." The waitress didn't call Murphy a 'sick, sick man', but the way she nearly spat 'pepper' at him, she didn't need to.

Peppery bread tasted exactly how he'd imagined it to taste: bread, but with pepper on it. Completely unremarkable outside of that. And they weren't really flavours that mixed particularly well? In truth, Murphy was not a cultured man; he wasn't sure if "peppery bread" was a thing, but even if it was, it _definitely_ wasn't this — slices of completely normal, possibly storebought bread with pepper sprinkled all over it.

 _Am I insane?_ he asked himself. _This isn_ _'t usual, right?_

" _Peppery bread is a thing, but it isn't this,"_ the voice inside replied. _"And if you think they're acting weird about it, act on it. I've_ _ **certainly**_ _met more normal people than this._ _"_

 _That_ _'s fair,_ he thought as he continued to eat the bread. _I think this has to be a front for something, myself._

"So?" asked Spoonie, looking him dead in the eye. "How is it? It's not too… _peppery_ , is it?"

"No, no; it… sure is bread, but with pepper put on it. Just as it says on the tin. I'm a fan!"

"Wonderful, wonderful. Like I said — it's something ya really gotta seek out round here, y'know?"

"Mmm, yeah; I can see why. It really… rewards you, for seeking it out. If you _want_ peppery bread, you _get_ peppery bread." Murphy was clenching his fist under the table again. How he wanted to just dive right in to about Birkenhead and the Oreburgh police and get this whole farce dealt with — but there was no use showing his hand that early. How he wished he was more than an amateur detective, too, because he was starting to feel a bit ill-equipped for this kind of investigation.

…Still, something had to give. He took a big swig from his glass and slammed it down.

"So, uhh — seeing as I'm new 'round here; I have to ask, where can I go for the gossip 'round these parts? I mean, generally — what kind of folks do you generally get 'round here, and are they prone to gossip?"

" _I wouldn't do that, James…"_

Spoonie figured this was a weird question, an eyebrow furrowed. "Why'd you ask?"

"Well, I just wanna figure out if there's any juicy stuff going on, is all. Anyone who's… in the know, about certain things."

" _Seriously, this isn't a good idea. Wrap this up. Get out of here."_

Certainly a suggestion, and one he was on the verge of heeding. "Not really, no; not only that, I don't think this line of questioning is particularly valuable for either of us. Let it go, chief."

"But what about Oreb—"

A slug to the stomach from no-one in particular, and all the wind was taken out of him. If nothing else, it was a hint he was definitely taking.

"What about what, now?"

"Ugh — nothing," he replied, necking the rest of his drink and clutching his stomach. "I think I'm ready for my bill, now."

"Oh? Well, in that case — consider your bread on the tab, and your juice will be—"

When Spoonie looked up, Murphy was on his way out, a scrumpled note where he sat at the bar. He sneered and nodded, letting the whole thing sink in.

It hadn't quite sunk in for Murphy. His breathing heavy and his stomach on fire, he was almost doubled over as he made his way to the nearest alleyway, as though he was about to collapse at any moment. When he eventually found a suitable place to get his bearings back, he stood back up and smiled.

" _James, I can't believe you! What were you_ _ **thinking?!**_ _"_

He laughed to himself. "Well… I figured it was better than nothing, at least. Probably a good time to bail, if you ask… but it wasn't like we didn't get _anything_ out of it."

" _You— gods, you people are all insane, you know that? 'Probably' a good time — you're lucky I think you're fun to be around, or else you'd be dead by now, and I hope you know that."_

"Well… if you're here for fun, why are you mad?"

"… _You are ridiculous, honestly."_

There was a smile on his face, and definitely a smile in her voice. Both erupted into laughter in the alley.

* * *

Sinnoh's winter barreled around the corner, and Eterna City was feeling the cold. It was barely above freezing temperature at this time of day, according to Connor's Pokétch, and his jacket wasn't thick enough for those sorts of temperatures. Freezing air burrowed right under it, leaving his skin pale, cold to the touch; frankly, he was a shivering wreck.

At least he wasn't in the forest though. The trek through the forest had been surprisingly uneventful, truth be told, though he absolutely wasn't complaining — he'd made it out before sundown, Reyes hadn't been (too) bothered by all the bugs, and all of that meant that Florence wasn't kept busy. All of _that_ meant that spirits in the group still ran high despite the cold.

It wasn't snowing in this part of Sinnoh either. Yet.

Frost came with his breath. Eterna was a beautiful city, even when it was dark and cold. Not as green as Floaroma was, but then that was to be expected for a big city — and it was still much more colourful than Jubilife or Oreburgh, especially at this time of year. Plenty of grass still neatly trimmed around some of the buildings and flowers still grew, even if the leaves had long since left the trees. The rows of houses and tall apartment blocks were seasonally decorated in fairy lights of all colours. Tall lampposts lit up the dark as the gang passed through the streets, looking for the city's Pokémon Center.

It looked much like any other, except for the trees around it.

On the outside, it was in a much better state than the one in Oreburgh. Much calmer, for one; nobody was being yelled at and it was a lot less busy. It was also a lot cleaner, the paint much newer; the notice board was a lot livelier as well. A lot of Pokémon-related postings, actually; much more than Oreburgh — Gym Leader talks, meet 'n' greets, and the town's Ice-type appreciation society hosting an open day to celebrate winter.

An aspect of home he kind of missed, actually: Jubilife wasn't perfect, but the Pokémon societies renting out the Center? Something he looked forward to just as much as his birthday… when he could actually attend them; given his lack of Pokémon, his terrible brain, and the threat of bumping into a certain someone, that wasn't terribly often. At least he had Pokémon now, though? And that certain someone seemed to be lagging behind. (He felt mean for even thinking that, mind; even if he was a complete asshole, getting stuck on the journey couldn't have been nice. Actually, he almost felt sorry for him…)

That wasn't his main concern right now. His first order of business was getting a room, and he didn't want to leave his friends to sort that out by themselves — so looking at the noticeboard had to wait.

"Good evening, and welcome to Eterna City Pokémon Center! I don't think I've seen you around before," said the nurse. It took her a moment to register what everyone was wearing, but even Connor could tell when it clicked. "Oh! Aren't you guys cold? It's freezing out there; are you sure you don't have bigger coats?"

"Well, it's warm in here at least." Reyes laughed, doing that thing where he gave a thumbs-up Connor couldn't _quite_ tell was appropriate, but _was_ sincere. "There's no need to worry about me; I'm fine like this, though I can't speak for my friends here…?"

"I'm fine," said Florence. "I'll pick one up in the morning."

"Uhh… yeah, no, no complaints from me, either. At least it's not the forest, I suppose?"

The nurse didn't laugh. "I mean, yeah, but that's not a very _high_ bar that, is it?"

"Uh… no, not really. Sorry."

"I mean, it's fine; just as long as you don't freeze to death out there, alright?"

Connor was definitely regretting this, which is why Reyes swooping in was such a relief. "I can assure you there'll be no freezing done, but to that end, we're gonna need some rooms while we're in town. Would you like my trainer's license?"

"Oh, certainly! I can get all that sussed out for you now…"

Connor tuned out of all that for now, his attention rested solely on Reyes. Once again, he'd come to the rescue while Connor was floundering, and it was such a relief to have someone who'd do that so often. It saved him from so much embarrassment and bother, which was… a bit selfish when he thought about it like that, actually. But Reyes didn't seem to mind. He did it all with a great big smile. That meant more than anything.

"Alright, so that's one room for the three of you, then. Here's a room key for you all; your room's on the second floor, straight through that door over there. Make sure you're back in every night before eleven, and when you're done here just hand your keys back into the office, alright?"

"Sounds good," said Reyes at the other two took their keys. "We shouldn't be _too_ long; we're just in town for the Gym."

"Oh, wonderful! Best of luck with that, then, and enjoy your stay!"

"You too! Err — wait, no—"

* * *

The first thing that Connor noticed about the room was that there weren't enough beds. To be more precise, there were only two. Which gave him a dilemma: sharing a bed.

It wasn't like he _minded_ — for one, it was cold, and as December came it'd only get colder. Hence, sharing a bed with Reyes was a great way to preserve heat, especially given how warm he was — and then there were the nightmares, too; having someone next to him definitely would've helped with them. But then there was the matter of space, too, because he didn't want to hog all the sheets to himself — and what if Reyes wasn't keen on it? What if it was weird for Florence? What if it was just generally weird?

"Connor? Everything okay?"

"Hm?"

Turning away from the beds, he saw Florence lay out a sleeping bag on the floor.

Typical.

After plenty of hair-drying, tooth-brushing, and general fussing, Reyes walked out of the bathroom and took a look around. "Oh — uh, Florence, are you sure you're okay with sleeping on the floor?"

"Uh — well, I mean, I don't really mind? It's up to you guys, really, but worse things have happened — I'm fine either way."

After a moment to think about it, Reyes shrugged. "I don't really have much of a preference, myself. Connor, any thoughts?"

It took him a hot minute to decide which thoughts he was comfortable expressing — the answer? None of them. "I, uh — I also don't mind either way, really."

"So… no voting either way, then?"

"Nah," said Reyes.

She nodded. Very slowly, and very deliberately, before she just cracked up and laughed. Quite hard, actually; it kind of worried Connor. She threw her head back and clutched her chest, barely able to believe her eyes. It wasn't a cackle, really; definitely good-natured — it wasn't like she'd just stopped to point at them, at least. She sighed under her breath when she'd eventually returned to normal, and just started beaming. "Sorry, sorry; I just couldn't help myself… but crikey, you two really are something, eh? Suit yourself, I suppose."

Connor was absolutely lost — and not convinced he'd avoided making it weird, truthfully, but it wasn't like he could change his mind now without making it worse.

Reyes was also clearly thrown off by it, but he wasn't one to let that stop him from ploughing through with important business. "Okay then! So — how do we wanna approach the Gym, then? Actually — Connor! What do you know about the Gym, because I'm not exactly in the know about all of this."

"Well, Gardenia's a Grass-type Gym Leader, and if my memory serves me correctly she uses a… Turtwig, Cherrim, and Roserade. Very reliant on status moves, much more focus on special attacks than physical ones, and I suppose you could say that whittling the opponent's health down over time is a strategy? At least, I know Roserade's a Poison-type, and — please don't quote me on this, I could be wrong — but that Cherrim of hers knows Leech Seed. _Definitely_ be wary of that Roserade of hers, because I'm pretty sure that thing is an absolute killer if you're not careful — Roserade usually are — and I'd suggest trying tomake the weather as inhospitable to her as possible, if at all possible. Moreover, I'd suggest doing our training in the woods? There'll be plenty of Grass-types out there, so it can't hurt to get to grips with the sorts of Pokémon we'll be up against."

Connor's explanation was met with silence for a moment, and he would've clarified that he'd finished if Reyes didn't immediately interject. "O… kay, that's very insightful! Thanks a bunch, Connor; that's really helpful, and I'm glad you know your stuff so well. I'll… try and invest in insect repellent for the forest, because bugs? Not a fan, _but_ you do have a point there. Florence! Any advice?"

"Don't die?"

"Very cool! Your input is much appreciated. Now, I'm thinking of getting all of this wrapped up before the big tournament starts. Anyone with me?"

Another deadline, eh? It was fun working with one in Oreburgh, even if this one was _much_ less necessary. The conference: December 6th through December 20th. Fourteen days starting tomorrow. About the same amount of time he had in Oreburgh, but this time without a miner's strike to deal with.

Alright.

"You know what? Sure, I'd down for that. I wanna get something to eat first, but after that… let the countdown begin, I guess!"

* * *

Fifteen days, starting today.

The thing Connor hated about deadlines was that from the moment they were set, the clock started ticking. This was officially A Thing now; there was no turning back, he was bound by the immutable law of his word.

But it was fine. Fifteen days was more than enough.

He hadn't even _met_ Gardenia yet, for one, and this was his first time in town. Most of his familiarity with her was simply through reading, and everything else was guesswork.

But he already had the one badge. What stopped him from getting another? His team was more than good enough, too.

"Byrne, please; uh — keep your beak out of Ronnie's face holes, if you could."

Byrne being a Staravia came with a host of pros _and_ cons. For example, he was a much more forceful preener and his interest in keeping Ronnie clean had doubled. His beak was twice as long now, which all meant that Ronnie _was_ going to get fussed around with, even more, whether he liked it or not. Of course, he didn't; it made sitting still a lot more uncomfortable for him.

"Byrne, please."

A second con was that Byrne wasn't as keen on following instructions anymore. Which meant that Connor had to get firm sometimes.

" _Byrne."_

Making a flapping and squawking fuss about it, Byrne pulled out. He scowled like an angry teenager about the whole thing, but Connor figured that it was progress — and it needed rewarding.

"Wonderful; thank you," he said as he got on one knee, running the backs of his knuckles through Byrne's feathery chest — disregarding the Staravia's fussing and cooing about it. "Now, err — if you guys don't mind, who's down to practice against Grass-types? Byrne, I'm gonna focus on you for today; this good to you all?"

They seemed content. Whether this was just because they weren't going at each other anymore, Connor didn't know, but it was something. Giving speeches to his Pokémon in the middle of the woods probably wasn't the bestlook. At least nobody was watching — and if it got Byrne to listen, then he was doing _something_ right.

One thing that wasn't right: considering that Eterna Forest was… well, a forest, there was a perplexing lack of Grass-types. The list seemed to start and end at Budew, which was not a great ratio compared to (by Connor's count) Wurmple, Cascoon, Dustox, Silcoon, Beautifly, Bidoof, Hoothoot, Kricketot, Buneary… none of which had anything to do with Gardenia. While all of those Pokémon were wonderful and Connor swore they all had their very well-deserved place in the forest, it didn't help him much.

Moreover, every Budew encounter seemed to follow a rough pattern: Byrne would stumble upon one and square up to it. It would square back at him, only to then get pecked at or slashed with wings. If it was still standing after that, it'd retaliate by leech seeding him or trying to root him to the ground and drain his stamina. Byrne would then finish the job and move on, with nothing learnt from it.

For most of the session, that was how it went. And that was _fine_ — it was okay, at least nobody was dying — but it wasn't _ideal._

So by the time the session was drawing to a close, he was guilty of starting to tune out.

It was just as Byrne faced another Budew. In battle mode with his wings outstretched, Connor figured that Byrne had it under control. So, regrettably, he began to think about lunch. They'd been out for a bit now; surely, a well-earned meal was due to reward everyone for such hard work. Followed by a break to look around Eterna, because he wasn't familiar with the place, and then another session later. Hopefully, it'd be a bit more lively next time round.

Then Ronnie nudged him forward.

When he looked, Byrne was locked in place. Spores went through his feathers and latched into his skin. The Budew's vines latched onto his talons, stealing his life force and healing its wounds. It was, on the whole, not really fine anymore.

"Crap — uhh — Ronnie, go take out that Budew!"

Just like that, Ronnie was in action mode. He charged forward and swatted the Budew to one side with a metallic claw, freeing Byrne from the roots.

All was good, until he got spored too. Now he was starting to lock up, jittering and paralysed — because Budew could learn Stun Spore, and Connor'd only now remembered this like the _very_ clever boy he was. Just as Ronnie was completely open to attacks, too.

Like the petal storm from the bushes that tore up his hide.

Squeaking and shaking, he was completely helpless as a Roselia emerged. This was quite possibly the worst moment for this to happen, and suddenly fleeing looked like a real option. Especially when it launched a barrage of seeds that encircled Ronnie and Byrne. Roots that snaked out of the ground and lunged, piercing their skins.

This was _really_ not ideal. It was terrible, actually. The forest was starting to turn cold around Connor, and he didn't want to be here — he didn't want any of this. But there was no use in giving up now. Running scared was defeat, and that defeat was _far_ more on him than either member of his team. He had to stand his ground. "Okay! Um — you can do it! Metal Claw; Wing Attack! Get 'em!"

Ronnie's movement was a strained crawl, blood running from his veins to the Roselia. His muscles just didn't move him fast enough as he strained forward, pushing on at a snail's pace. Much, much slower than the Roselia, who lashed at him with thick vines that drained yet more life out of him.

Until Byrne launched his wings at it as fast as he could. One wing was much more forceful than the other, and it was far from his sharpest attack, but it still cut deep through the Roselia's leafy epidermis. Rose petals danced into the wind as it tottered about, still reeling.

Rose petals that soon grew back, roots leaching from the other Pokémon. Byrne was having trouble keeping his head up, one wing and one talon limping behind as he blinked. One eye before the other — not ideal, terrible, but neither trainer nor Pokémon prepared to surrender.

"Okay, fellas — er — keep 'em trapped between you!"

The Roselia wasn't about to back down either. It smelt blood. Byrne was starting to run out of steam now, and Ronnie was just about hanging on — and the Roselia focused on Byrne. Sharp leaves danced through the air, swirling around it until one arm stuck out at Byrne. A storm of leaves rushed at him, most of them cutting through his chest — leaving fragments of feathers and droplets of blood in the wind. His retaliation was even weaker this time, wings slicing against the Roselia and only managing to remove a few petals here and there — but, importantly, it left the Roselia reeling just for a moment.

Just enough time for Ronnie to strike; slamming his forelegs on the ground, mud turned to sharp stones that sliced up the Roselia, almost flooring it.

There was still no use giving in. This was still on.

Until Byrne locked up this time. He was having trouble keeping his eyes open, his head was starting to drop, and his movements were uneven — and the Roselia was still at the ready, petals beginning to dance in the wind again… and a choice fell on Connor.

Unfortunately, there wasn't much him getting in the way of an attack would've done this time, and he only saw one way out of this without Byrne getting knocked out — which was to leave the Roselia still standing and flee.

Cursing under his breath, he opened his Pokéballs and returned the two. By the Roselia's leaves had gone off into the distance, hitting nothing in particular, he'd already left.

"Good job out there, guys," he mumbled to no-one. "I'm _so_ sorry."

* * *

"Hey, Connor; don't worry about it. It happens."

At the very least, Reyes was there in the same ways he always was: with a smile and a helping hand. "…Thanks."

Waiting for the Pokémon Center nurse, a lot of things crossed Connor's mind. Like asking himself how he let this happen or reminding himself that he had the type _and_ numerical advantage, or reminding himself that this was a _wild_ Pokémon he'd been bested by. It wasn't like this was worth fussing anyone over, least of all Florence, because this was entirely his fault.

Of course, it didn't stop Reyes. Actually, Connor wouldn't really say he was 'fussing' about it; he was just there to listen and give advice. "All of us make mistakes — take it from someone as cool and wonderful as I! It's really just a natural part of this whole 'training' business, and all you can do is learn from it. Please don't get all worried about it, okay?"

He bit his lip, all the tension in him deflating with a sigh. "I… guess you're right; it's a really dumb thing to make a big deal of. I just shouldn't have done it — I guess I just made a mistake, is all."

"Hey, hey, that's nonsense; if it's something that worries you, then I'll assure you it's not dumb! And I promise you're still one of the coolest dudes I know — we can figure out a plan for it, if you want?"

"Uhh—"

"Got a Staravia and an Aron ready for pickup!" said the nurse, her voice ringing through the Center.

Well, there was no harm in planning, he figured. "You know what? I'm down for that."

"Wonderful — we can get this sussed out, I promise. But first, go and get your Pokémon, alright?"

The nurse smiled as she handed over his Pokéballs. As a matter of fact, Connor swore he heard her laugh under her breath. "You know, it's kind of remarkable how different your two little pals are."

"Uh — i-it is?"

"Yeah! Your Aron here's a sweet little fellow, isn't he? He was perfectly fine with me fussing about at him — but on the other hand, I hope you don't mind me saying so; your Staravia's a bit of a bastard. I'm guessing he was the one that got 'em both in trouble?"

Now it was Connor's turn to laugh. "Nah, uh — it was, er — j-just a bit of a mishap on my end. I, er — just got a bit too complacent, that's all."

"Don't be so hard on yourself! We're all guilty of it from time to time — but if that balance is something you're having trouble with, I'd definitely keep a close eye on your Staravia."

"I see. Uh… well, I'll, er — keep that in mind, I guess; thanks!"

Connor wasn't 100% sure about it, but at least it was a place to start. It was also kind of interesting that nobody really had anything to say about Ronnie other than how good he was, too; with Byrne, everyone (explicitly or not) basically called him a bastard, which drew a range of reactions. But with Ronnie? Everyone just seemed to be _fine_ with him. Which gave him food for thought…

"So, did she say anything?"

"Yeah! She did, actually — she, uh… I won't repeat the word used, but basically, she said there's a big difference between Ronnie and Byrne. Like — i-in terms of temperament, of course. Though they are obviously pretty different physically, too."

"Well, yeah — they're basically opposites. That Aron of yours? Sweetest one I've ever seen. Byrne? Foul. Just a ball of feathers and spite. I've no doubt he'd kill all of us if he had the chance."

"Come on, now; he's not _that_ bad…"

Reyes sneered. "He is pretty bad, though, you've got to admit. Definitely worse than Ronnie."

"Well, they're just different; I wouldn't say either of them are _worse_ —"

Reyes took Connor's pause as a sign of victory. "See, I'm right, aren't I?"

But that wasn't what stopped him. There was that idea once again of how different they were, and he didn't have a way to put it succinctly right now, but he definitely had an idea. " _Kiiiiinda_ — it's… they're certainly more different than I give 'em credit for, isn't it? So, uh — I've got to wonder actually… what if it's how I'm training them?"

"What do you mean by that?" asked Reyes, tilting his head.

"I mean… maybe what works for Ronnie won't really work for Byrne, especially now that Byrne's evolved and matured a bit — I mean, Staravia, they're basically just the freckly, angry teens of the family, right? Whereas Ronnie, he's just… well — I mean, you said it yourself; nobody has a bad word to say about him, really. Well — aside from, y'know, Hawley — but that's… not the point; so I'm thinking that just having a blanket method for the both of them doesn't really keep them both engaged."

"Interesting idea; what makes you think it's an engagement thing?"

"Well, I'll be the first to admit this — I know that I got complacent, at the very least; I can't imagine that both of them stayed switched on either. So it's definitely on me, BUT — maybe I just gotta take a step back next time, evaluate how I view the whole thing, see what works for the both of them, and tweak the method a bit so that it's a bit more… y'know, what's the word — look, basically, I don't wanna trail off and think about dinner in future, if you catch my drift?"

"That certainly sounds like a good place to start, Connor; if you think that'd work for you, then you should definitely try it! In truth, you know much more about your Pokémon than I do — I mean, you probably know more about _my_ Pokémon than I do — so I can't really comment, but whatever works for you works for you."

Connor looked at his wonderful friend and his great big smile. "Thanks, err — you sell yourself too short; you know lots about your Pokémon too, you know — but, uhhh, that does mean a lot, really—"

"BUT! If you want to take your mind off lunch, then I've got an idea?"

"Wh— what's that?"

Reyes paused, and then started laughing to himself. "We should go find Florence, for one, and then we should eat!"

* * *

Florence was already eating. At a nearby café, as a matter of fact; blissfully unaware of what the boys were up to.

"Isn't this nice?" she asked Dorothea. "You know… a break."

Dorothea either didn't notice how hot her cup of tea was, or she simply didn't care; the handle was of no use to her as she picked it up and slurped it. "Hap hap!" she chirped, half of her just poking over the tabletop.

"You're damn right; nothing like a bit of time for the girls, eh?"

She liked hanging out with the other two well enough — if she didn't, she'd have gone home by now. But she was used to being solitary at heart, and being around people all the time was exhausting. Especially when those people relied on her to not break their bones or something. Also, a big part of her doing this in the first place was to scout out the scenery all over Sinnoh. There was no fun being cooped up all the time without any say on what she could do, like how it felt behind the Pokémon Center desk; she relished the opportunity to meet new people and do new things. Like schmoozing around at cafés, for example.

Except her schmoozing was interrupted.

"I'll have you know I've waited _bloody well long enough,_ actually," a man growled, his fist pounding the counter. "How much longer do I have to wait?"

Florence looked over at the developing scene, ready to help any retail worker in need. Indeed, the cashier was putting on their bravest face, smiling with their best customer service smile and taking deep breaths through the nose. Of course, this wasn't enough to stop this very angry man from going off — but what caught her eye was the very tall girl behind him. Taller than most people she could remember seeing, and she was getting pissed; her arms crossed and glare sharpening.

"Look, I'm sorry, sir; if I could get it done for you sooner, I honestly would—"

"'Could' doesn't cut it," he snarled. "Where's my _damn_ coffee?!"

Yeah, he wasn't calming down. "Dorothea," she whispered, "wanna go check it out?"

Dorothea nodded, and the two got to their seats, preparing to approach.

He was getting madder and madder, his voice trembling with rage. "Am I some kind of _joke_ to you? I'll have you know I make more in a week than you do all year; you're stopping me from doing _very_ important work!"

"Please, sir, calm down—"

"No, I won't calm down! _Where_ _'s my damn coffee?!_ "

As Florence stood at the side and prepared to strike, however, the girl gripped his shoulder. "Hey."

"And what do you want?" he said as he turned around, visibly caught off-guard by the size of her.

"Stop fuckin' around."

"Or what?"

She reached for her Pokéball, the hand on his shoulder turning into a fist. Florence took this to be an opening; she and Dorothea slid over to the cashier, ready to give a helping hand. "Hey," she said with a warm smile, "you alright?"

"You threatenin' me?!" snarled the guy. "I-I'll have you know that—"

"No you won't," the tall girl replied. "Wait for your coffee or get outta here; I've got better things to do than this."

"It's fine," said the cashier, who smiled back anyway. "I'll be fine — it just happens. But thanks for checkin'."

The guy looked around, at the girl ready to pummel him into dust and then at Florence. And he knew he'd been defeated. "Alright, alright, fine! I'll scram, but you've made a powerful enemy! You'll regret this!"

" _Sure_ you will."

The tall girl waited until he'd slunk off before going to the cashier with a warm, sympathetic smile.

"Hey, thanks for the help, both of you. I appreciate it — but I'll be fine, I promise." They took a deep breath, their brave face still on. "Now, what can I get you?"

"Glad to hear you're alright. If he comes back while we'll here, we'll kick his ass, won't we?"

Looking at her, Florence couldn't help but think that she was _so_ tall, and oh gosh, she was looking at _her_. She laughed haphazardly, finger-gunning back. "You betcha."

"Wonderful." Florence nearly smouldered at her smile as she dug notes out of her pocket and handed them to the cashier. "Then I'll just have a black coffee, please."

Florence noted that the notes in her hand _definitely_ added up to more than the coffee cost, and the cashier beamed back. "Thank you so much! Here's your receipt; feel free to take a seat, and I'll call your order when it's ready."

"Thanks; and, uh — sorry about that asshole once again," she said. Florence really couldn't get over how _big_ she was, and she could definitely feel Dorothea judging her from knee-height — so much so that she hadn't noticed the tall girl was looking at her. "You already ordered?"

"Wh— oh, uhh; yeah, I just wanted to make sure everything was okay, don't mind me."

"Nah, no worries. Mind if we sit together?"

"Absolutely, no — I mean — yeah, that's more than fine by me!"

She was _definitely_ blushing as she made her way back to her table. Frankly, she didn't care. More of a concern was Dorothea scowling at her for giving that seat away — fingers crossed, the Happiny'd forgive her.

The tall girl grinned as she took the seat opposite Florence's, trying to ignore Dorothea's very upset glare. "Your Happiny is adorable, and I love her. You a trainer yourself then?"

"Oh, no, no; I'm a nurse in training. Though, uh — I _am_ looking after two trainers, y'know." She winked.

"You have my sympathies, then, because I know most of us are dumb as rocks."

"It's tolerable — though I know you said 'us;' what Pokémon you got, then?"

"Aha, well — I'm glad you asked!" She gestured to her belt, with two Pokéballs on it. "This one — I've been travelling with my Chimchar for the past couple of weeks. He's _supposed_ to be called Halstead, but he's gotten a bit more used to 'bastard' than I'd like. And then this is my Murkrow, who is a very lovely girl and I would die for her."

"Aww, nice; I love Murkrow. What's she called?"

"Bilinda," she replied, grinning. "It's a bit dumb, I know — I just thought it fit her."

" _Nice,_ " said Florence. "Nah, they're great choices, but I'm going to be very disappointed if you don't start your own shoegaze band with your team in the near future. Y'know; one of my trainer friends has a similar thing going on with their Pokémon names."

"Really? What're theirs called?"

"He's got this little Aron named Ronnie — which is kind of hilarious, actually — and this absolute bastard of a Staravia, called Byrne."

The tall girl's face dropped, her eyes widening. "No fucking way! Connor?!"

"Wait — you know him?"

"Yeah — and Reyes too?"

"Yeah! No way! How'd you know 'em?"

"They helped me out with a little thing with Oreburgh — shit, mind taking me to meet up with 'em after we're done?"

Florence was beaming, her face wide and absolutely lit up. She didn't care if Dorothea was judging her; the odds of this were _small_ , and she was absolutely taking up this opportunity. "Hell yeah! Oh — uh, I don't think I got your name," she said as she stuck out a hand. "I'm Florence."

"Florence, eh? Well, it's lovely to meet you." As she spoke, she gave Florence the firmest handshake she'd had in years, looking her straight in the face and smiling. "My name's Lucia."


End file.
